Coward On the Phone
by Azara-Rayne18
Summary: Karofsky is expelled, and Kurt is thrilled. He's not leaving Dalton -mostly due to Blaine- but being able to visit Mckinley without fear sounds like a dream. Until he gets a chilling phone call... Stalking, violence, possible character death or rape.
1. Chapter 1

"Mercedes, if you are lying to me, I will never trust you again."

Kurt Hummel clenched his phone as tightly to his ear as was humanly possible as he strode into 'Hummel Tires and Lube'. He'd already stopped by the new house, greeted Carole and Finn, been swept up into a wardrobe wrinkling but nonetheless welcome hug from Finn, and he was just getting out of the car to see his dad at work when he'd gotten a call from Mercedes.

With the most wonderful news.

"Kurt, you know I wouldn't lie to you. It was on Ben Israel's blog last night, and you know it's on when he posts anything that's not about Rachel. I checked today, just to be sure, and it's legit."

"You have no idea how happy you just made me!" Kurt squealed, walking through the door. His father looked up, pleasant confusion written all over his face. Kurt smiled at his father as he draped his bag over the back of the nearest chair, "Okay, I'm in Dad's shop. I have to go, but I promise I'll talk to you tonight after dinner."

Kurt half-ignored Mercedes customary, "See you, white boy," before snapping his phone shut and rushing over to his father.

"Dad, you're never going to guess what's happened!" Kurt bounced lightly on his heels as he waited for his father to finish with the oil he was currently changing.

"I'm guessing it's good, from the way you came bouncing in here," Burt chuckled, checking the engine one last time before coming up for air. He wasn't even fully clear of the car before his son was bouncing and grabbing his arm. "Was that somebody at Dalton? B-Blaine, that's his name, right?"

"No, Dad. I mean, yeah, it's Blaine, but he wasn't the one I was on the phone with. Mercedes just called. Karofsky's gone!" Kurt laughed, dancing in some strange pattern that, for once, wasn't choreographed by a bottle blonde pop star. Burt looked past his son, instinctively searching the room for someone watching who might hurt Kurt. He hated having to do that, but if it keeps Kurt safe…

Nope, it was just him and Brad. The other mechanic was leaning over the hood of the cherry red Cadillac he was currently fixing to stare at Kurt. "So," He asked, clearing his throat, "That some new version of Bieber?"

"Karofsky?" Kurt stopped, turning to explain, "No, unless Justin Bieber suddenly gained 50 pounds and transferred to Mckinley to make my life a living hell."

"Good," Brad said, "I hate that kid. Looks and sounds like a 12 year old girl…" He had just started a very good imitation of Bieber singing "One Less Lonely Girl" before he noticed the vicious glare Burt Hummel was sending his way, "No offense."

Kurt seemed too happy to care, however, and simply glided around the room with an offhand, "None taken."

"Karofsky's some punk who's been bullying Kurt," Burt explained, "And what do you mean he's gone?" He didn't want to encourage Kurt gloating over the kid's death or anything, even if David Karofsky was on his bad list.

"Got expelled," Kurt said; his eyes bright with excitement. "He got expelled and now he'll have to stay off Mckinley property forever! I can come see Rachel and Mercedes and Tina and Quinn whenever I want without that Neanderthal breathing down my neck ever again. Oh, I could sing!" And Kurt did, launching into that Broadway song he'd flubbed up for him in glee club last year. Burt grinned, listening as his kid hit the high note with enough gusto to blow the roof of the place. Take that, Rachel Berry.

"I'm happy for you, Kurt. But how'd the kid get expelled?" After all, if threatening to kill another kid wasn't enough…

"Oh," Kurt waved his hand dismissively as he jumped down from his dad's desk. "That idiot punched a teacher. I mean, true, Mrs. Groomsman is a homophobic harpy, but he hit her in plain sight of Mr. Schue and like, three other teachers. Can you believe how stupid he is?" Kurt let out one last laugh before pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Can I invite the girls over to celebrate?"

"Sure, kid." Burt grunted, turning to the next car, "Just make sure the party's over by eight. Family dinner."

"Yes, sir," Kurt chirped, fingers already whizzing out the perfect text invitation.

...

"I mean, can you believe it? I haven't been this happy since… well, crap, I can't remember ever being this happy," Kurt beamed from ear to ear, one ear straining to truly appreciate the magic that was Gavin Mikhail radiating from his computer speaker, the other listening for Blaine's response.

He could hear Blaine laughing at him from the other end of the line, and reveled in the butterflies the sound sent around his stomach. Not even possibly unrequited love could ruin this day for him.

"That's great, Kurt. Are you going to be transferring back to Mckinley, then?" Kurt was sure the slight tremor in Blaine's tone was only his imagination.

"No," That sigh of relief was, again, only imagination, "I don't want to waste the tuition money Dad and Carole so generously donated, and besides, I would miss you guys too much. I mean, how could I live without seeing Wes bang his gavel against David's head one more time?"

"It's true," Blaine giggled (no, it was a perfectly normal, friendly laugh, not at all flirty, bad Kurt's imagination), "Wes is just a bit too attached to that thing."

"Yeah," Kurt sighed, "You should have seen the mess I made, giving Tina and Rachel facials this afternoon. Quinn and Mercedes managed pretty well on their own, but Rachel is obviously hopeless, and Tina said she kept up on the condensed moisturizing routine I wrote out for her, but pores don't lie."

"Kurt, I have a confession to make," Blaine said, suddenly serious. Kurt felt his heart skip a beat.

"What could that be?" Kurt asked.

"My pores are hopeless," Blaine said mournfully.

"Oh," Kurt said, "Well, then, I'll simply have to give you the full Kurt Hummel treatment when I get back." That was okay, right? Not to flirty. Oh, no, it was too flirty. But no, Blaine was laughing.

"You simply shall, I'm afraid," Blaine said.

Kurt smiled, reaching over to his computer as "Raise Your Glass" ended to push replay, until his eyes grazed over the time. "Oh, crap. Blaine, I have to go. Dinner starts in ten minutes, and I have to be ready."

"Okay," Blaine said immediately, "Bye, Kurt."

"Bye, Blaine," Kurt said, fighting the smile as he ended the call. He set the phone on the edge of the bed as he scrambled to change his shirt. The white t-shirt he wore to avoid getting cucumber paste on his more expensive pieces simply wouldn't do for a night out with the family.

His phone rang as he was reaching for his closet. The t-shirt dropped to the hamper as he reached for the phone. Maybe Blaine was calling back about something? A brief fantasy of Blaine's voice saying, 'By the way, Kurt, I'm in love with you. Forgot to mention it,' passed through Kurt's mind and disappeared as soon as he saw the words 'unknown number' flash across the screen.

"Hello?" He asked, pressing the phone to his ear.

"You look great without a shirt on…"

"What?" Kurt asked, his pulse quickening. He recognized the voice on the other end of the line, but couldn't quite place it. The words were said softly, almost sweetly aside from their meaning.

"You look beautiful like that." Kurt wasn't sure what he was talking about, but the voice answered his silent question. "Against the white in your room. You look awesome. I'm not sure how you fit all of the furniture from your basement into the new room, but it's really a great… combination."

Kurt nodded aimlessly, before remembering he was on the phone. "Yeah, thanks." He reached behind him, for the door. He wanted his dad.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you." The voice was suddenly dark, almost angry, and with a jolt of ice through his veins, Kurt realized who it belonged to.

"Karofsky?" He breathed against the speaker. Scanning his room with terrified eyes. The chuckle in his ear confirmed his fears.

"Hello, Kurt."


	2. The Rules

Kurt's heart was doing flips in his chest. The curtains were open. The curtains were open and Karofsky was on the phone and he knew Kurt's shirt was off and how could he know that unless he was here? Kurt ran to the window and stared out into the yard, grabbing his blanket off his bed to cover himself up.

"Aww, don't be like that…" He was teasing him.

"Karofsky," Kurt said, trying to keep his voice level. Don't panic. Please, don't panic. "I don't know why you're here, but please-"

"SHUT UP!" The voice screamed. Making Kurt jump and try to fight back tears. "Shut up! It's not your turn to talk right now, Kurt. It's mine. See, I want to play a game with you."

Kurt wanted to laugh, wondering just when his life had turned into a sick, and terrifyingly real reminder of SAW III. But then Karofsky was speaking again, sweet and calm and leading, and his world was blinking into nothing but the phone pressed against his ear.

"You thought I was gone, didn't you? Made you happy, didn't it? So happy that you could go visit your little glee friends without me breathing down your neck. You called me a Neanderthal, isn't that right, Kurt? Thinking I was gone, that made you so damn thrilled didn't it?" Kurt remained silent, afraid to say anything. "You've been praying for this for months, haven't you? Haven't you, Kurt? ANSWER ME!"

"Yes!" Kurt yelled, jumping again and trying not to hyperventilate. "Yes, I did, I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize." Polite again, like the previous outburst had never happened. "I know that, Kurt. I know everything about you. Even when you were gone at that little fag school, I couldn't get you out of my mind. So I decided to cut some things out of my schedule so I could come see you whenever I wanted. So, are you happy now, Kurt? Answer honestly, please."

"N-no," Kurt whispered, "No, I'm not. Look, Karofsky, I don't know why you're doing this, but it isn't funny. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I like the way you look, Kurt, especially when you're terrified. I've missed you so much, ever since the moment I first laid eyes on you I have been captivated. But even besides that, I already told you why I'm here. I want to play a game, Kurt. Now here's what we're going to do. I'm going to tell you the rules, and you are going to listen, like a good little fag, do you understand? Answer me, Kurt."

"Yes, I understand," Kurt said.

"Good. Now here's how it goes. I am going to call you. You won't when or where the call is coming, but every time I call you, you will answer that call. I might only be calling to say hi, or I might ask you some questions, whatever I feel like talking about. Do you understand so far, Kurt?"

"Yeah." Kurt whispered. This wasn't happening. Oh, please, this wasn't happening.

"Now, if I ask you a question, you will tell the truth. I'll know when you're lying. And just so we're clear, this game is one-on-one. If you tell anyone else about the game, they may not live long enough to play. Finn is too stupid to protect himself, and with your dad still recovering from that little heart issue… You understand, Hummel?"

"Yes," Kurt said softly.

"That's good. It's a very simple game, isn't it?"

"Y-yes."

"Of course, you can always choose not to play, Kurt. I don't want you to think you can't choose. But bear in mind that if you don't play, I'll have to come up with… something else to take up my time. Do you understand me, Kurt?"

Kurt hated hearing his voice spoken like that, like he was a child, but at the moment he was too scared to care, "Yes, I understand," He said numbly.

"Good. Now, it looks like your dad is coming up the stairs to check on you right now. I don't want him to have any hard questions for us to answer, do you? Because I'm not really very good at talking things out, and there's always a chance things might get violent…"

"No. No, I don't want that. Please," Kurt whispered. He could hear his dad's footsteps now, heavy and clunking against the new floorboards. Karofsky laughed.

"Good, well then, until the next round. Good bye, Kurt."

The beep of Karofsky hanging up sounded loud in Kurt's ears. Almost loud enough to cover up the sound of Burt opening his bedroom door.

"Kurt?"

Kurt snapped the phone shut and turned to his dad. Burt's face was solemn, torn in confusion. "Yes, Dad?" Kurt said. His voice was even higher than usual, and coughed to cover it, blinking his eyes rapidly so his dad wouldn't see how wide they were.

"We're supposed to be on the road, Kurt. You don't even have a shirt on, what have you been doing in here?" Burt scanned the room, taking in his son's phone still in his palm. "Have you been on the phone with somebody?"

Kurt's heart went into overdrive. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone, he couldn't risk something happening to his dad. "Just Blaine, Dad."

"Your Dalton friend, huh?" Burt grunted. "Well, Kurt, it's time to go… are you okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you were over the moon all day today, and now you just seem… Kurt, are you okay?" And his dad was looking at him with that look on his face, and he was going to ask questions, questions that Kurt shouldn't answer, couldn't answer.

"I'm fine, Dad. Look," And Kurt ran over to his dresser, looking just a bit too long at his options before shrugging on a shirt that went perfectly with the rest of his outfit, though for once it didn't hold any joy. Still, the beaming grin he gave his father seemed to placate Burt. At least until he turned back around.

"Okay, kid, we need to get going. Leave your phone here; we don't need those types of distractions." When Kurt stared at him, his face drained of color, Burt snapped, "Kurt, please. It's one night."

Kurt nodded shakily as he set his phone by the bureau and rushed to follow his dad out the door. Burt was right. One night wouldn't hurt anything. It must have just been some stupid prank to get him upset. In fact, with his father there to protect him, it felt more and more like he was simply overreacting.

But he prayed that Karofsky didn't call again.


	3. Something's Happened

By Sunday, it seemed as if the whole thing had blown over. Kurt was almost ashamed of the panic he had gone through Friday night after dinner, when he had raced up to his room to see if Karofsky had called. He almost sobbed with relief when he was greeted with the blank screen of his phone, and a quick scan of his missed calls revealed nothing from an unknown number.

Needless to say, he did not sleep well that night.

But on waking up Saturday and going to the park with Finn, Puck, and his dad to play touch football – okay, so he spent more time daydreaming about seeing "Wicked" on Broadway than actually playing, but they needed equal teams and it meant he got to hang out with Dad and Finn – and then helping Carole make dinner that night, the phone call seemed further and further.

Not that any of that stopped him from jumping three feet in the air when his phone unexpectedly rang on Sunday morning.

He sighed with relief upon seeing the caller ID, "Hey, Mercedes."

"Hey, Kurt. My parents say I can go shopping after church today. You up for some quality time with your fabulous best friend?"

"Absolutely," Kurt laughed in a way that he hoped was not as desperate as it sounded, "Let me just ask my dad." Kurt leaned over the railing, pressing the phone to his shoulder to muffle the sound, "Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah, Kurt?" His dad's voice floated up from the living room. He and Finn were watching some sporting event; Kurt could hear the cheering over some goal scored in the background.

"Is it okay if I go shopping with Mercedes later today?" Kurt put on his usual 'I'm your firstborn son, don't you want me to have a happy childhood?' smile, more for show than anything. His father couldn't see it, but that was no reason to slack, and his dad knew that it was there, anyway.

His father grunted, mulling it over for a moment. "I think that'll be okay, Kurt. Be back by six though, or call me if you're gonna be late. I want to see you one last time before you head back to Dalton for the week."

"Yeah, dad." Kurt pulled the phone back to his ear. "I have to be back by six."

"That's okay," Mercedes said, "I'll be there to pick you up around one, okay? You can call Blaine and see if he wants to come." It was an obvious effort for her to offer, and Kurt appreciated it.

"No, that's okay. I think I want to just hang out with you, today." He could practically hear Mercedes beaming on the other line. He failed to mention that Blaine was going to be busy studying for his chemistry test all day.

"Oh, my gosh, Kurt, we are gonna - "

"Yeah, Mercedes," Kurt said, "Can I talk to you later? My dad wants to talk to me. Thanks." Kurt gently pressed the off button on his phone. His dad was indeed standing in his doorway, waiting patiently for Kurt to finish his conversation.

"You didn't have to hang up with Mercedes on account of me, you know," Burt said, looking aimlessly around Kurt's room, not sure what to settle his eyes on first. Burt always seemed to have that lost look, stepping into Kurt's room. "I coulda waited."

"No, it's fine. Mercedes and I haven't talked since Friday. It would probably have been a long conversation." Kurt flopped back onto his bed, "Yeah, Dad?"

"I just… Kurt, do you have anything to say to me?" Burt asked, "About what's been bothering you lately?"

Burt had been trying, in his own clumsy way, to get Kurt to open up about what had happened Friday night. Kurt didn't tell him about the phone calls; at best, it would make him sound paranoid, not to mention worrying his dad over nothing. At worst… Kurt didn't want to think about if the calls were real.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dad. I'm fine." Kurt said, smiling brightly at his father for emphasis. Burt grunted and began turning away.

That, of course, was the moment Kurt's phone chose to ring.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" Burt asked, turning back into the room.

"No!" Kurt said it a little too quickly. Time for the disarmingly casual laugh. He already saw the flashing 'unknown' on his cellular screen. "I mean, it's an unknown number. Probably just some sales call or something." He tried to ignore his heart's terrifying beat in his chest. 'It's nothing,' he told himself. 'Karofsky's being a creep. I can't let him rule me like this.'

Kurt's dad watched him warily from the doorway. "Okay, then. Carole's making some chicken salad downstairs. You want to have some?"

"Sure," Kurt said, bouncing from his bed and after his father. The ringing from his bedside table stopped.

Kurt was halfway down the stairs before it started again.

…..

"Alright, so how do I look in this?" Mercedes asked, twirling expectantly before him. Kurt scanned the scarlet top with a critical eye. His phone was in his bag; Kurt had turned it on silent after the fourth phone call. 'I won't answer it, I won't play that psycho's game,' he told himself. But his hands were itching to check his phone all the same.

"… It's great," Kurt finally said, taking just a moment too long delivering his verdict to give himself time to calm down. "Fabulous." Mercedes grinned as she checked the price tag.

"And for only 10 dollars. Am I amazing or what?"

"Amazing, definitely," Kurt nodded.

"I think I'm gonna try on that blue one, next. What do you think?" Mercedes could tell he was distracted. Not good. Kurt took a careful second to scan through the options.

"I think the goldenrod one has more potential, to be honest."

Mercedes pulled the yellow top off its hook obligingly as she shut the door. Kurt leapt for his phone the moment the door was shut, his heart dropping as he read the screen. Seven missed calls since he'd silenced it. Kurt closed out the screen only to find another beneath it.

1 voice message.

Kurt pressed the button, trying to keep his hands from shaking, coming up with nonchalant mutterings in response to Mercedes chattering as she tried on the shirt.

"We need to do this more often, white boy. I swear, Kurt, I never find this many deals when you're not around. I think you must be my good luck charm."

"Yeah…" Kurt said softly as the message started.

"You didn't answer my calls, Kurt. I'm very disappointed, where's your sense of adventure? No matter. Since you chose not to play this round, I had to come up with a… new source of entertainment."

The message cut off, and Kurt had to force himself to laugh.

"Lay off, Karofsky," Kurt muttered, faking more nonchalance than he had.

He shook it off, listening absent-mindedly to Mercedes, "Oooo, this is it, Kurt, you were so right." He checked the rest of his phone, more to calm himself than anything else. He had a text message from David. Kurt sighed with relief as he clicked on the screen. This should be entertaining.

The text was only two lines long. It took a second for Kurt to read it, half a second for his heart to stop. His phone hit the floor.

"Kurt, are you okay out there?" Mercedes called. Kurt wasn't listening, his mind stuck on the same ten words.

**You need to get back to Dalton, Kurt. Something's happened.**


	4. Toothbrush

"Hello, my good fellow… or girl-fellow… huh, this is Blaine Anderson. I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time; that having been said, if you leave me your name and number, I will be sure to get back to you. Unless, of course, I forget. Ha. Anyways…. BEEP"

"Blaine! Answer your phone, dammit!" Kurt yelled into his mouthpiece. An hour of listening to the same phone message, hearing that dorky laugh that he'd made fun of at first, and Kurt was seriously beginning to panic.

He was half-an-hour away from Dalton when he thought that perhaps Blaine wasn't the person he should be calling. David had sent him the message; David should be able to explain this. Kurt's fingers shook as he searched for the number.

"Hello?" David answered, leaving Kurt to sag in relief into his steering wheel.

"David, what's going on?" Kurt all but screamed into his phone.

"Kurt, calm down. First thing's first; are you okay?" David's voice was calm, level, and infuriating, especially with the level of panic Kurt was feeling.

Kurt rolled his eyes; were they kidding? Of course he was okay; they were the ones he was worried about. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm on my way. What happened?"

He listened to David relaying the news to someone else, felt a sway of relief when he heard Wes' voice, "He's driving and on the phone? That's really dangerous, David. It might be better if we hang up the phone until he gets here - "

"I swear, you hang up on me, and I will personally make sure that every member of the Warblers is a countertenor from here on out," Kurt said.

David gasped on the other line, "That's not even funny, dude. Do you know what that would do to our group dynamic? And Wes is right, you shouldn't be driving while on the phone; does your dad know you're doing this? The last thing we need is for you to get hurt."

"I appreciate the concern, but I am fine," Kurt said, half-sarcastically. He was lying – between the near constant panic attack and the horrific scenarios flashing before his eyes the road was beginning to look a little odd. "And my dad already knows I'm driving to Dalton; I stopped back at home to check on him and Carole before I left." There was also that desperate phone call to Finn and the seven messages he'd left Blaine after calling who knows how many times and what if something happened to him?

"So, you're okay?" David asked again, tentatively, and Kurt wanted to slap him across the head.

"Yes, I am fine, now can someone please tell me what is going on?"

"… I don't think it's the kind of thing we should talk about over the phone. How close are you to Dalton?"

"Ten minutes," Kurt sighed. It was technically 25 minutes but what good were speed limits anyway? David didn't want to talk about it over the phone; it was bad, then, wasn't it?

Kurt heard a sigh of relief. "Okay, then," David said, "We'll talk about it when you get here, okay?"

"Fair enough," Kurt growled, as his mental math dropped him from ten minutes down to six. "Can I just ask you one thing?"

"Sure."

"Is everyone okay?" David paused, thinking about his answer. Kurt's chest clenched, forcing the question out of him, "Is Blaine okay?"

"Blaine?" David's voice was all confusion, "Yeah, he's right here. I thought he would have been the first person you called."

"Put him on the phone," Kurt said through clenched teeth. There was a single, slight moment of hesitation, during which the manhood of every Warbler hung in the balance, before Kurt heard the tell-tale shifting of a phone being passed from hand to hand.

"Hi, Kurt," Blaine said. He sounded… troubled, which saved him from an immediate murder at the hands of Kurt Hummel.

"Blaine, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, are you - "

"Then why, pray tell," Kurt drew a shaky breath, "Weren't you answering your phone?"

"You tried to call me?" Blaine asked. Kurt laughed, trying to sound less terrified than he really was. "My phone was off. I was studying; I didn't want any distractions… Holy hell, Kurt, are these messages all from you?"

"Most of them. I can't believe you didn't think to turn on your phone, Blaine. Do you know how terrified I was?" Kurt was trying not to tear up, but it was a difficult task. "I get this text from David saying to get to Dalton and then I try to call you and you're not answering…"

"Hey," Blaine interrupted gently, "I'm fine. I'm sorry. I was worried about you, too, you know. I know I should have called, but I was busy taking care of things here."

"Just a second, I'm pulling up." Kurt barely bothered to turn the car off, cursing when the keys hitched for a moment on the way out.

Several boys stood in front of the main entrance; David and Wes flanking Blaine. The sight of his friend made Kurt's knees weak as usual, but it didn't stop him from running as fast as he could toward the three.

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine's relieved voice gave Kurt proof that the other boys were as worried about him as he was about them.

"So, what happened?" Kurt stopped, giving them all a hard look. If this turned out to be nothing…

But the boys' faces were just a little too solemn for that. Wes and David's eyes inched toward Blaine, and Kurt focused on him. Blaine coughed, feeling the pressure. "Well… I really don't know how to say this…"

"Blaine," Kurt said, "Please." Just when he thought his life could not get more dramatic….

"It's Pavarotti," Blaine sighed, breathing out the words in a gust of air too quick to take back. "I'm really sorry, Kurt, I know how much you cared about him, but today someone broke into your room and…."

"Was Eric there?" For the first time, Kurt thought of his scrawny, quiet roommate.

"No, he came in after it was done. He's in the nurses' office now. He threw up after seeing… Kurt, are you okay?" Wes asked gently.

"No," Kurt breathed, "No, I'm not." On one level, he knew the clench around his lungs didn't make sense. He should be relieved that no human got hurt. But his stomach was still spiraling. And Eric got sick, which meant… "I want to see my room."

"I don't think-"

"Don't you even start with me, David," Kurt said, strolling past the boys and into the main foyer. Normally the sight of Dalton's natural beauty charmed him, but today it just made him angrier. All this money spent on hand-carved moldings and marble staircases and they couldn't have invested in a security guard that would actually do his job? "How did he even get in here?" Kurt asked, voicing his frustrations.

"Campus security is trying to figure that out," Blaine said, "We're not even sure why he broke into your room, he didn't steal anything, didn't leave any messages… he just waltzed in, killed the bird and left."

"And the school just let him waltz, didn't they?" Kurt said bitterly. "What?" He turned and glared at Blaine, who had grabbed his arm to get his attention.

"Kurt, I saw what happened in there. The aftermath, I mean. The way your room looks right now isn't… You don't have to go in there."

Kurt eyed the door to his room, trying to decide that for himself. Did he want to go in there? Pavarotti had just died in there… because of him, because he hadn't answered Karofsky's call. Hadn't wanted to play his sick game and now he was paying for it.

"I do have to go in there, Blaine," He finally said, straightening his back as he pushed the door open.

Silence.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked.

Kurt didn't answer. He wasn't even sure he could breathe.

The room was covered in blood. Not red through and through, but definitely enough for Kurt to notice and more than he thought the little warbler could possess. He scanned the room as quickly as possible, forcing himself to look even as he cringed away. Few of Eric's things were touched, the blood getting more prevalent as it reached Kurt's side of the room. His bed was obviously the site of Pavarotti's death. He could see tiny flecks of textured white among the red, pieces of fat and gristle that had slipped through Karofsky's clumsy fingers.

Kurt could smell vomit, and see it in a pool by the doorway, most likely Eric's contribution. The smell rose, hot and heavy, combining with the sight to make Kurt feel sick to his stomach.

The worst part, though, was above the bed.

Kurt shrieked as his eyes traveled up to the mobile Karofsky had set up over his pillow. It was clumsy and crude, made up of some spare string and a plastic hangar that Karofsky probably got from his own closet. Four pieces of string, and dangling from the edges of them were the remains of Pavarotti.

The little bird's body was strung up from the tail, bleeding steadily onto Kurt's pillow from the jagged edges of its throat. The head was hanging from a separate string, the beak connected to the wire, the eyes blank and empty. Both wings were attached to their own strings, weaving endlessly around each other like the macabre reworking of a baby's plaything.

Kurt stared, taking the whole thing in with horrified eyes. He jumped when he felt arms around him, then leaned into Blaine's embrace.

"You're shaking," Blaine said softly, "You shouldn't be here, come on, Kurt."

"What do you mean, come on?" Kurt said, shaking his head in hopes that the scene before him would go away. It didn't, and tears sprung to Kurt's eyes.

"You think I'm letting you sleep in here after what happened?" Blaine shook his head, pulling on Kurt's elbow, "No, come on, you're sleeping in my room tonight."

"But, I need, my things," Kurt said helplessly, staring at the mess in front of him. He didn't know where to begin sorting through this mess, but he hadn't exactly packed before heading out to Dalton. His toothbrush, he needed his toothbrush right now or he was going to burst into tears in front of Blaine and that would be so embarrassing.

"Hey," Blaine turned him, looking into his eyes, "I'll get your stuff; I know where it all is. Eric is spending the night in the nurses' office; they always have someone on duty to watch over the students. He'll be fine. All I care about right now is getting you safe and comfortable. Now run along, you know where my room is. I'll grab your stuff and I'll be there in less than a second."

"My toothbrush," Kurt said shakily. He knew it was petty but he needed it. It gave his something to think about, anything to think about besides Pavarotti being ripped apart and set up as a display because he didn't answer a phone call.

"I know where it is. I promise I'll take care of you." Blaine smiled gently at him and Kurt began walking to Blaine's room, listening as the boy began rustling around in search of the things he'd need for tonight.

Kurt was just out of earshot when his cell phone rang.


	5. Sleep

"H-hello?"

"Oh, have you decided to start playing again?" Karofsky's voice was calm, too calm, and Kurt's head and stomach began spinning in different directions.

"Listen, Karofsky," Kurt said, forcing every ounce of strength he had into the words, "I don't know why you're doing this, but you've done enough. Please, just-"

"I wonder what Carole would look like hanging above your bed… Think your dad's precious heart could take that?"

"No!" Kurt cried.

"No? Because I want to make something clear, Kurt. What happened to that bird was a punishment for you. A message. You didn't answer your phone, Kurt! Of course, I forgave you. I'm good like that, you know? But you did need to understand that this game is important to me, and if you keep refusing to play… Well, the stakes will get higher really fast."

"Hey, Kurt…" Blaine trailed off, shifting the pile of clothes and toiletries in his hands as he waited for the phone call to end.

"Who is that?"

"It's… um… it's just Blaine," Kurt whispered. Blaine looked up at the sound of his name, smiling slightly before darting back down to the clothes again. Trying not to eavesdrop.

"He's a fag too, isn't he?"

"Well… y-yes," Kurt tried to keep his voice even, tried to keep Blaine from noticing anything out of the ordinary. Well, besides the dead warbler strewn across his pillow.

"Hmmm… what's that he's got, there? Those your green cotton pajamas? Stupid boy, everyone knows your blue silk are your favorites."

Kurt's breathing hitched, "How do you know that?"

"You've worn them every other night this week. I've been watching you, Kurt. I know everything you do, I know everything you say, and I see everyone you love just waltzing in little circles around you. I saw your roommate leave before I left my little message, and trust me; it would be no problem to tear him apart. It would be no problem to kill everyone you love and as soon as I run out of them, I'll go straight to you. Do you understand what I'm saying, Kurt?"

"Yes."

"Perfect. I'll let you get to your sleepover, Kurt, but let me just leave you will one last thought. If anyone finds out about this, they will die. And if you tell anyone, I'll make you watch. Good night, Kurt."

The dial tone sounded loud in his head, and he yanked it away from his ear and shoved it in his pocket as quickly as possible. He smiled at Blaine as the other boy presented the fruits of his raid.

"I think I have everything you'll need for tonight; you want to look over it in case I missed something? I'm not sure I got all of the steps for your moisturizing routine, I grabbed every bottle, but -"

"No, that's perfect," Kurt said numbly. He let Blaine lead him up the stairs to the upperclassmen dormitories.

David was already on his bed on the other side of the room. "Hey, Kurt," He said as Blaine led Kurt passed the doorway and shut the door behind them. Kurt watched the two boys exchange dark looks as Blaine's fingers deftly turned the lock behind him.

"Kurt's going to be staying here tonight. 'Til the mes-… until his room gets cleaned up," Blaine said.

"Sounds fine," David said, "The bathroom's through there, if you want to take a shower, or anything." He pointed to a small oak door at the back.

"Thanks," Kurt gently took his things from Blaine and started toward the door.

"You should probably also call your dad and tell him what happened," David said. "The school's taking it very seriously; we think the police may get involved."

"Police?" Kurt's voice was shrill. How was he supposed to keep this a secret with police involved?

Blaine hazel eyes were wide and serious, "Kurt, Pavarotti obviously didn't die of natural causes. And it wasn't an accident either. This was sick… and we think it was aimed at you."

'If anyone finds out about this, they will die.'

"Well, you don't need to panic," David said uncomfortably, "We don't want to scare you, it's just… Blaine?"

Blaine looked slightly alarmed, gazing between his friend's uncomfortable fidgeting and Kurt's face, which was pale and trembling. Blaine sighed and took a step forward, "Kurt, I wasn't trying to scare you, it's just…" Blaine sighed and started chewing his lip, lost for something to say.

"No, n-no, I understand." Kurt tried to smile, but it was difficult with fear coursing through his veins. "I'll just… I think I need a shower. Wash today off of me, you know?"

"Yeah." Both boys looked mildly relieved. Kurt didn't blame them.

As soon as he got into the bathroom (a small room with no windows, thank heaven), Kurt sent his father a text saying simply, "My pet bird died." Dad didn't need the stress of knowing the details about Pavarotti's death, and Kurt was tired of phone calls. Kurt waited until a reply was sent, "Oh. Sorry, kid. You doing okay?" And sent one himself, "Yeah, I'm fine," which was not at all how he felt but would satisfy his father, which was all Kurt really wanted right now.

That and being left alone.

Kurt stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, pruning up every inch of his perfect skin. He went through every step of his moisturizing routine with pristine accuracy, refusing to skip even the slightest step. At the moment it was the only thing keeping him sane.

Kurt wandered out of the bathroom two hours later hoping that Blaine and David would have already gone to sleep, but both boys were sitting on David's bed, wide awake. They stopped talking when Kurt walked in, leaving him with no doubt who they were talking about. He sighed, dropping his small bundle of belonging and heading for the makeshift bed set up on the floor.

"Nope," Blaine was up and in his way before he'd taken two steps. "That's mine. You're taking the bed."

"I-"

"No arguing. There are two reasons. One, what's happened is bad enough without us forcing you to sleep on the floor. Two, if someone were to get into this room – it won't happen, but if it did – they would have to step on my face to get close to you. I'm a really light sleeper. We figured it would be safer." Blaine smiled gently and pulled the covers back.

"Are you sure?" Kurt asked, eyeing the bed apprehensively.

"Yes, Kurt. Now climb on up." Kurt hesitated, and Blaine laughed. "It's clean, I promise."

Finally, Kurt relented, sliding between the covers and listening to the rustling as the other boys settled into bed. The bed smelled like Blaine, and the thick, soft covers soon left him feeling warm and secure. The light stayed on, and Kurt was grateful for that, scanning the room with his eyes one last time before he fell into a fitful sleep.


	6. Belonging

When Kurt woke up three hours later, it was with complete and utter fear.

The first contributor was, of course, that he had very little idea where he was. Contrary to the speculations of many Dalton boys, Kurt had never spent the night or even spent more than ten minutes in Blaine's room. And, though the upperclassmen rooms were much nicer than the one Kurt lived in, the room he woke up in was eerily similar to his own, only the wall was covered with posters of Zac Efron in varying states of undress, and Daniel Radcliff in varying states of magical douce-baggery.

The second was the nightmare Kurt had just woken up from, the nightmare where Karofsky had his mother. It was one of the few moments in which Kurt could remember his mother's face in perfect clarity, could see the horror in her eyes. Karofsky grabbed her and pressed a knife to her throat. Kurt could hear a phone ringing, and he tried to answer it, but he was only eight, and he didn't have a phone yet. The ringing stopped and was replaced by his mother's agonizing scream…

So, Kurt woke up, took one look at Daniel Radcliffe's smug eleven year old face beaming douchily over the collar of his Hogwarts uniform, and burst into tears.

They weren't loud tears; Kurt had thoroughly mastered the art of quiet crying. But he wasn't even two sobs into what was sure to be an intense crying jag before Blaine bolted upright beside him, slightly tangled in his bed of sheets.

"Kurt!" He said, trying wildly to pull the sheets off him as he scanned the room for intruders. Soon, his eyes made way to Kurt trembling on his bed. "Hey? What's the matter?"

"I need my phone," Kurt stammered softly.

"What?" Blaine said.

"I think my phone fell down by the bed. Can you – hic! – get it for me?" Kurt turned his face to look miserably in Blaine's direction, and the slightly confused look on the other boy's face melted into concern in an instant. Kurt's phone was delivered into his palm and he checked it for a new message. Nothing. Kurt sighed and leaned back in the bed, new tears trailing down his face.

Blaine was gone for a moment; Kurt craned his neck to see the boy carefully check the bathroom and both his and David's closets before settling down on his sheets again. David slept soundly, not even turning in the light that was still flooding the bedroom.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked.

"It was just a nightmare," Kurt said, "I'm sorry to wake you."

"No, it's okay. Are you sure you don't need anything?" Blaine scooted towards the edge of the bed, his eyes wide and so sincere. The words were out of Kurt's mouth before he could stop them.

"Could… could you sleep up here with me?" Kurt asked. He couldn't even look at Blaine, sure that the other boy's eyebrows would be hitting his ridiculously curly hairline.

"In the bed?" Blaine asked, his voice sounding oddly strangled.

"If you don't want to, it's okay," Kurt said, "This isn't a come on or anything, I just really don't want to sleep alone, but I understand how you could-"

Kurt cut off went he felt the bed around him shifting, and Blaine's warm arms wrapping around his waist.

"Is this-?"

"Yeah, that's perfect." Kurt burrowed into Blaine's chest. Blaine's unclothed chest. The other boy was wearing nothing but a pair of ratty boxers, and Kurt was surrounded by solid, firm, smooth skin. Blaine had a healthy smattering of hair on his chest and stomach, forming a soft barrier between Kurt's head and the hard, barely giving flesh beneath him.

Now everything smelled like Blaine, a warm, musky guy smell that Kurt couldn't stop trying to describe to himself, even if it was only in his mind. His heart was beating too fast, and he wasn't sure if it was the nightmare or his friend. Kurt pulled away. "Is David still asleep?"

Blaine turned away to check, and Kurt fought the urge to grab him and pull him back. "Yeah, he's still out. David can sleep through anything."

"Oh. Okay," Kurt pressed his face back into Blaine's chest, letting the other boy start to drift off. The sobs were building at the back of his throat, like a cough, a need, and before he knew it, Blaine had snapped back into consciousness and was holding him as he screamed/sobbed into the other boy's naked chest.

"Oh, my – Kurt, are you okay? Come on, talk to me. Please." Kurt sobbed again, feeling like such a child. Blaine must hate him, must think he was an awful person, nothing but a whining baby. Kurt had to explain, to defend himself, but years dealing with a clueless father had taught him that he needed to get the sobs out now, or he'd never get the words out later.

Blaine rocked him slowly, singing a lullaby in some strange foreign tongue that Kurt couldn't understand. Blaine didn't seem to care much if he understood or not; his expression was pure worry, and Kurt was sure Blaine only wanted for him to calm down.

"I-" Kurt started, as soon as the worst part of the crying was done. Another sob tore out of him along with the word, Kurt let out two more before coughing and trying again, "I'm sorry; you must think I'm crazy."

"No, Kurt, no," Blaine said absently. The other boy was stroking his hair, probably not knowing that Burt comforted his son the same way. The old gesture was strange, with a smaller firmer hand that sent heat racing down Kurt's spine, but comforting nonetheless.

"It's… it's just," Kurt took a deep breath, "Pavarotti was my friend. He was my friend and I never even thought about him. Even when I got that text from David, I took it for granted that he wouldn't get hurt, and I was so, so wrong." Wrong to ignore the phone calls, wrong to take the little bird for granted, wrong to believe that Karofsky wouldn't go through with his threat.

"I know, Kurt, I know," Blaine said, and something inside Kurt snapped.

"Pavarotti didn't do anything wrong!" Kurt screamed, diving back into the cover that Blaine's arms provided. "He was just a little bird, he never hurt anyone. He listened to me every day, and I never even let him leave his cage. He spent his whole life there…" A horrifying thought hit Kurt just then, and he trembled under the force of it. "He was in a cage, he couldn't get away! It must have hurt so much and he couldn't get away! We're all in cages; he could hurt any one of us…"

"He?" Blaine interrupted. Kurt could feel Blaine's heart beating faster, so close to the surface, could practically hear the cogs in Blaine's head turning, "What do you mean, he? Kurt, is there something you aren't telling us?"

'You tell anyone, and I'll make you watch…'

"No!" Kurt whispered, "No, I don't know anything…"

"Kurt, listen, if you know who did this, you need to talk to someone, anyone." Blaine's voice was level, he tried to sound gentle, but Kurt could practically hear Blaine's level voice rising into a scream. He put his hand to the other boy's chest and pressed down, gently. The same skin that felt so firm a second before now felt unbearably fragile. Kurt had to protect him.

"No, no, I don't know anything, I promise. I'm sorry." Kurt fell silent, trembling as he felt Blaine's body relax, going soft.

"I was so worried about you," Blaine whispered.

"You worried about me?"

"Are you kidding? I'm sitting in my room reading about isotopes one minute, and the next thing I know, David's barging in, saying something happened in your room. I ran down there, and the first I could see was blood, a lot of it, and teachers, and I seriously thought for a second that you were…" Blaine trailed off, and Kurt felt the squeeze of the other boy's arms around his ribcage.

"I wish it was me," Kurt said. Blaine tensed up again.

"Please don't say that. I'm gonna miss Pavarotti, too, and he didn't deserve what happened to him, not at all, but if it had been you… Listen. Are you listening?"

"Yeah," Kurt said. Blaine crooked a finger under his chin, bringing his face into view.

"I know that things aren't always easy with us. Our friendship is complicated, I get that. A lot of times, I don't know how I feel about you. But I do know that I really care about you. Like more than anybody. If something happened to you, I don't think I could handle that."

"I feel the same way," Kurt said. He closed his eyes and Blaine's hand was at his back, steadily rubbing as he started the song again. "What's that song?" Kurt asked, yawning as he nuzzled further into Blaine's arms.

"I don't know. My mom used to sing it to me. It's pretty, I think. Do you want me to stop?"

"Please, don't stop," Kurt whispered. He realized, aimlessly, that this was the first time he had ever been this close to another boy. It felt better than he would have expected. Better than he deserved to feel, with what he had allowed to happen. Only one thing was certain; he couldn't allow anyone else –especially Blaine – to get hurt because of this.

It was in that moment; with Blaine Anderson's arms around him and the boy's voice still sounding in his ear, that Kurt Hummel made his decision. He would do whatever it took to protect the people he loved. He would do whatever the voice at the end of the phone told him.

He now belonged to Dave Karofsky.


	7. New Toy

Kurt's eyes flew open at the sound of his ringtone. It had been three long days since his decision, since he'd woken up in Blaine's arms and looked at those long lashes and just known that he couldn't let anything happen to the other boy, even if he had to die to protect him.

Blaine had stirred and pursed his lips and opened big hazel eyes and smiled and said, "Good morning." He was completely unaware that he had doomed his best friend.

It was the image of Blaine in his mind, so beautiful and sweet, that gave Kurt the courage he needed. He pushed the accept call button on his phone, and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello, Karofsky."

He whispered, making sure that he didn't disturb Eric, who was asleep on the other side of the room. His alarm clock read 5 a.m. two hours before anyone would be getting up for the day. The room was pristine, all visible traces of what had happened gone. But Kurt could still practically feel Pavarotti's blood on the carpet beneath him, and he shifted uncomfortably in bed as Karofsky's voice chimed in his ear.

"The police pick anything up?" The tone was light.

"No. No, I didn't tell them anything," Kurt said.

"Good boy. Now, I need you to do something for me. Think you're up to it?"

Kurt trembled. "Yes."

"Good. Now I want you to stand up and – quietly, don't want to wake your roommate – walk out the door."

Kurt did as Karofsky said, throwing his covers aside in silent haste. The sound of the door opening was sharp, like a gunshot, making Kurt freeze and stare, wide eyed, at where Eric was still asleep. His roommate snorted and shuffled around on the bed, but didn't make another sound.

Kurt waited until the door clicked back into place before speaking again, "It's done. I did it."

"I know. I can see you."

The cold laugh sent shivers down Kurt's spine, heavy with the weight of eyes on his body. He looked around, but didn't see anyone, only a million places for Karofsky to be hiding. Kurt took a deep breath, willing his heart to slow down. "Is that all you wanted?"

"No. Walk outside, Kurt."

Kurt did as he was asked, shivering as the cold early morning air bit through his green cotton pajamas. He hadn't thought to put on a jacket, and now he wished he had. He hadn't even put on shoes; the dew from the ground was soaking his feet, the cold air stinging them. He followed Karofsky's instructions and walked away from the school, finally stopping when Karofsky told him to.

He was standing in a grove of trees, shivering as they towered over him, covering him from view of the school. No one who passed by would see anything that happened here, Kurt realized. He shuddered again.

"What would you like me to do?" He asked politely, hearing Karofsky's breath stutter with obvious pleasure at his tone.

Nausea rolled low in Kurt's stomach as Karofsky took a moment to collect himself. "Nothing. Yet. Just let me look at you."

"O-okay," Kurt stood there for several minutes, shivering , trying to ignore Karofsky's lecherous observations flowing through the phone line.

"Yeah, you work out, don't you Hummel? All long, skinny legs and pretty ass. I'm a total ass man myself. Can't get enough of a nice, round, firm backside, and you have exactly what I'm looking for. A little chubby around the face and hips, but that can all be fixed in time you know. I like your skin, too. All creamy and smooth, oooh I just want to lick you from head to toe… Take off your shirt."

Karofsky moaned the last bit, and Kurt's breath was trapped inside his chest, "What?"

"Take off your shirt, Hummel? Do I need to be more clear? I want to see that pretty chest more clearly."

Kurt pulled the phone away from his ear to fumble with chilled, shaking fingers at his shirt buttons. Karofsky's exaggerated moans and whistles bled through to his ears with each new strip of skin. Soon Kurt was shirtless, standing there with tears burning at the corners of his eyes. He refused to let them drop, knowing they would only make his cheeks even colder.

"Oh, you have such pretty pink nipples, Kurt. They look so hard, like they could cut glass. Are they hard, Kurt?"

"Yes." Kurt trembled, and one of the tears broke loose, tumbling from his eye.

"You're so pretty, Kurt. Now take the pants off, I want to see your thighs more clearly. You can keep on whatever underwear you're wearing." Kurt obeyed, pushing down the fabric before his mind could catch up with what he was doing. "Good. Now I want you to hang up and stand there. Let me look at you. Don't move, don't yell. You can leave when somebody finds you like this, a little message that you belong to me, understood?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, then. And may I just say, Kurt? I approve of your new attitude. I hope it stays that way." And Karofsky hung up, no doubt focusing on staring at him through the trees.

Kurt stood there for three hours, trembling, watching as the sun rose, giving a tiny bit of relief to his chilled frame. He waited, occasionally jumping at the sounds of crunching twigs behind him, wondering if Karofsky would grow tired of watching him and come out to play with his new toy. The thought made more tears fall from his eyes, freezing on his cheeks.

He heard the calls of his friends looking for him twenty minutes before he was found. There was Eric's voice, nervous and barely audible, Wes' loud "Warbler Kurt?" echoing through his tiny circle of hell. David's voice was booming and several times so close that Kurt had to fight not to scream for help. Karofsky was probably in the trees right now, watching, making sure Kurt followed his instructions.

It was Blaine that finally found him, walking through the trees and screaming, "Guys, I found him!" Before he took in Kurt's disheveled, half naked form. "Kurt?" He asked, tentatively, pushing Kurt's hair away from his eyes as soon as he could do so. Kurt didn't answer him, numb aside from the terror. "What are you doing out here? Kurt, your lips are blue. Are you okay?"

Kurt didn't answer, afraid that it would be breaking one of Karofsky's precious rules if he did. He merely stared at Blaine, eyes numb and unfocused, until Blaine put a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder and stared at him with something very close to panic.

Then Kurt fainted.


	8. I Think I Might Be In Love

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't see why he shouldn't be. It's just a little hypothermia."

"Yeah, but I'm still worried. He was just standing out there. Standing stock-still in the cold in just his underwear. He didn't even say anything, and I know he heard me calling him. It was… it wasn't like Kurt. There was something wrong with him." Blaine sounded upset. Kurt stirred slightly, feeling and hearing the paper sheet underneath him crinkle beneath his weight. "Kurt?" Blaine was by his side in an instant, the other boy's hands wrapped tightly around his own.

Kurt's eyes fluttered open, taking in Dalton's hospital wing. "What? Blaine?"

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked.

The memories flooded back to him; Karofsky on the phone, telling him to stand there until someone found him. The panic in Blaine's eyes while Kurt could only feel cold and numb. The hungry whisper in his ear, telling him how beautiful he looked….

"I'm fine," Kurt whispered.

"You will be," The nurse stepped forward, all business under a cap of fading blonde hair. Kurt liked her; she was firm, but warm and confident. Kurt felt safe around her. "You need to drink this." She shoved a cup of something warm into his hands, "Followed by a few cups of water. We need to keep you hydrated. We sent a call to your father; he's on his way to check on you. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he can't help himself. He'll be here in about twenty minutes."

Kurt frowned, "Thank you."

"You're lucky, kiddo. Mr. Anderson found you just in time, and your roommate was quick to form a search party when he noticed you were missing. You were already at risk for severe hypothermia and frostbite when Mr. Anderson carried you in. If it weren't for the friends you have here, you'd be in the hospital getting some fingers and toes removed."

Kurt probably would have responded, but his mind was stuck on one thought. Blaine had carried him in? A sudden image came to him. It was of himself, limp and helpless, in Blaine's strong arms. Blaine's handsome face would be creased in worry as he looked down on him, desperate for a way to help. It was beautifully dramatic, but Kurt waved it away, drinking the warm fluid that tasted vaguely medicinal.

"How are you feeling?" Blaine asked, reaching for the cup the instant Kurt was done drinking from it.

"A little cold," Kurt said. 'A little terrified,' Kurt thought, but he didn't say that.

"Well, do you need anything? The Nurse is off getting you more water, she had to get it from a bottle because the pipes are clogged up on this floor, otherwise I would get it for you. Do you want more blankets? I can get you more blankets, it's no problem, and you'll be much warmer - "

"Blaine!" Kurt said. Blaine froze, his fingers wrapped in the wool of another blanket. "I'm fine, I promise. Please, just come here."

"Don't scare me like that," Blaine breathed, dropping into a chair next to Kurt's bed and spreading the blanket over him, "Please stop doing things like this. It scares me. What happened this morning?"

"Nothing."

"Stop lying," Blaine said. "Something happened this morning, I know it. There's something you aren't telling me, and that's okay, but just… know that I'm here to protect you, okay?"

"I'm not asking for your protection, Blaine."

"I'm not waiting for your permission, Kurt."

Kurt tried to be angry at Blaine, but the boy was too sincere. He took a deep breath, "Why are you doing this for me?" It was a decent question, in his opinion. No one had ever cared about him the way Blaine did. And the way Blaine was looking at him right now, his warm green-brown eyes melting, it felt almost like….

"I think I might be in love with you," Blaine said.

Kurt's mind jolted to a complete stop. He stared at Blaine, whose soft smile was slowly sliding off of his face. "I-" He tried to speak, but his brain wasn't sending the proper messages to his mouth. Blaine looked positively heartbroken.

"Oh," Blaine said, his voice dripping with hurt. "Oh, I didn't mean to…. I mean, of course you don't…. I'm really sorry, Kurt, forget I said anything. This wasn't the time to drop this on you, I've just been really confused lately and I thought that maybe you felt… I'm sorry."

Kurt wanted to shush him, maybe by crushing his lips into Blaine's. He wanted to reassure him, to tell Blaine that he'd been dreaming of this moment since the day they met. But there was too much going on right now and he just couldn't deal with all of it. Blaine looked like he was about to cry, he looked humiliated, and Kurt wanted nothing more than to make everything alright again.

"Kurt!" Burt chose that moment to walk in the door, his eyes instantly falling on his son. Blaine stood up, without a word, and practically ran out. Kurt stared after him.

Burt stayed with him the rest of the night, making sure he was warm and demanding that Kurt tell him what had happened. Kurt ran out of excuses after a while. "I got lost" "I felt too hot so I took my clothes off; it's a common symptom of hypothermia" "I took my phone so I could call someone if I got lost, but then I got confused". Eventually the accepted story was that Kurt had gone for a morning walk, gotten lost, and succumbed to the early symptoms of hypothermia. It was a fine excuse, and Kurt had gone with it, too exhausted to think of an alternative, despite the disbelieving look on his father's face.

Finally Burt left and Kurt was released to his room, sinking into bed, intent on falling asleep. It was only eight o'clock, but Kurt was too tired to care about the time. He sunk into unconsciousness with a sigh of relief.

His phone woke him at 11:45.

Kurt scrambled for it, half panicked in his semi-conscious state, "Hello."

"I don't like the way he was talking to you."

"What?"

"That prep school brat thinks he can steal my Kurt from me! And you just sat there, letting him say it, without even trying to stop him!"

"Let him say what?" Kurt asked, but the sinking in his stomach answered the question before Karofsky.

"I think I might be in love with you," Karofsky said in a high, breathless, voice, mocking Blaine. "Tell me, Kurt, what does this relationship mean to you? Because to me, it means loyalty. Can you be loyal, Kurt? Or do I have to take care of this myself?"

"What do you mean?"

"The pipes are clogged on the top floor, Kurt. The hospital wing and Dalton's upperclassmen dorms. None of the showers there are working, so the boys have to go to the underclassmen communal showers. So many stalls to hide in. And one stupid prep school boy who wanted to be alone. So I want you to listen, Kurt. Listen, hard. After all, this may be the last time you ever hear this."

The phone shifted, and Kurt could hear the low buzz of water, and a single voice echoing off the empty walls.

"Here we go again; I kinda wanna be more than friends. So take it easy on me. I'm afraid you're never satisfied…"

Kurt's heart squeezed tight.

"Blaine."


	9. Jealousy

"Please," Kurt said, "Please, I'll do anything, just don't hurt him…."

"He tried to take you away from me. You're mine, Kurt…"

"He didn't know!" Kurt hissed, his throat felt too tight. "Blaine was just worried about me; he didn't know he was doing anything wrong! If you want to punish someone, you should punish me. I know about this, he doesn't. Please don't hurt him."

"I feel the chemicals kicking in," Blaine sang, oblivious to the boy begging for his life at the other end of a phone line, "It's getting heavy and I wanna run and hide… I wanna run and hide…"

"I can see how he would influence you to stray. He's a beautiful boy. Strong jaw, gorgeous eyes… great ass… I want him, Kurt. Almost as much as I want you. Should I have a taste?" Karofsky's voice was suddenly hungry. Kurt felt sick.

"No. No, please don't…" This would kill Blaine, it would kill him. "Please, I'll do anything… You're mine, remember? If, if you… If you have sex with Blaine, you'll be betraying me. Do you really want that?"

"Oh, Kurt," Karofsky breathed, "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that. But this boy… he's too much of a temptation. We have to make sure he can't try to seduce you anymore…"

"No, please," Kurt said. "I'll stay away from him, I'll transfer out of Dalton-"

"No!" Karofsky whispered sharply. "No. Be friends with the boy. Friends. No more. I'll be watching."

"I promise," Kurt said, sagging against the headboard, "I promise; I won't let him say anything like that again. I promise." The sound of the shower stopped, the sound of Blaine's flip flops slapping against wet tile echoed through the halls. "Just let him go. Please let him go."

"Not quite yet. Don't you know me at all? I like games, Kurt. Let's play one right now."

No. No games. Not with Blaine's life. "Please," Kurt said. He felt powerless.

"Just a short one. There are two exits to this particular shower room. If Blaine chooses the one farthest from me, he walks out unharmed. If he comes close to me, I take him. It's a choice, you see. Like answering a phone call."

Kurt's breathing felt light and unnatural. Sound carried well, in the bathroom. Kurt could hear every slap of Blaine's feet against the tile floor, he could hear every echo. He could practically hear the sound of Blaine's breathing. Kurt could see Blaine in the back of his mind; pushing wet curls back on his forehead, clutching the towel tight around his waist. Blaine, for all his talk about sex, was really a very modest boy. He'd never even had a boyfriend.

"Please don't do this," Kurt whispered.

"That's really all up to Blaine, isn't it? I wonder if he's a virgin. I have a thing for virgins, Kurt, probably why I love you so much. He's coming closer now; I think he may choose me…" Karofsky cursed loudly as Blaine's footsteps drew further away. Kurt's heart leapt into his throat. Walk away, Blaine, please walk away….

"Hello?"

Blaine had heard Karofsky. Kurt could imagine him now, spinning around, thick eyebrows drawn up in curiosity, and possibly fear. Karofsky laughed quietly, "Maybe he's changed his mind."

"Is anyone there?" Blaine's voice was closer now. No, Blaine needed to get out of there... "Is someone - Ah!" Blaine's scream sent fear shooting into Kurt's fingertips. Kurt clutched the phone to the side of his head, wanting nothing more than to scream at Blaine to run. But from the sound of it, he was too late. Kurt leapt off of his bed; he had to find Blaine, he had to save him…

"Ha! I scared the crap out of you!"

That wasn't Karofsky. The voice was too gentle, with a laugh playing around its edges.

"That wasn't funny, Thad!"

Kurt sunk back onto his bed, nearly sobbing with relief. Thad. Thad was with Blaine, Blaine would be alright.

"Speak for yourself. I found scaring the pants off of Blaine Anderson to be hilarious," Thad said. There was a flirty edge to Thad's voice, one that sent an entirely new and unpleasant emotion into Kurt's laundry list.

"You mock me, sir," Blaine said drily.

"Hey, no using my catchphrase," Thad said. "You missed an awesome movie night, my friend. And David is tired of you moping around in the shower singing pop songs when you could be having an exclusive post-movie night party in the old dorm room. I'll bring the popcorn. Come on, Blaine-o. What is your deal, anyway? You've been down all day, this isn't like you."

"It's nothing. Now if I come to this party, will you stop calling me 'Blaine-o'? And let me get dressed, please." Blaine's voice faded away.

"Well, that was close, wasn't it?" Karofsky said. Kurt closed his eyes tight, sagging in relief and lingering fear.

"Why are you doing this?" Kurt asked.

"As another message, Kurt. He belongs to me, simply through connection to you. I care about you, Kurt, more than anyone, more than anything. But let me make one thing clear to you. If that boy had come close enough to me tonight, I'd have raped him, and then sliced his throat open on that bathroom floor. And you know who would have stopped me? No one. I do this because I can. And don't you ever forget that."

The phone clicked into a dial tone. Kurt sat there, listening numbly as the door slid open and Eric stepped in.

"Wow, Kurt. You missed the most amazing party tonight. Thad did the funniest thing…"

"I don't want to hear about Thad, Eric," Kurt said dully as he slid his phone shut. Eric didn't argue, sliding into bed and humming happily. Must have been some party. Thad probably did something great for all of them. After all, he was such an amazing guy. Kurt came up with a name for the boiling in his gut. Jealously. Mixed with heartache. Because Blaine wasn't his. Blaine would never be his.

They all belonged to Karofsky.


	10. Peanuts and Promises

Kurt's phone chimed again in Calculus, and he didn't even have to think, grabbing it on instinct. It was a text message, hardly common practice for Karofsky. Kurt opened it anyway. It was from Blaine.

Blaine: I'm sorry. Please talk to me?

Kurt sighed, snapped the phone shut, and looked up to see Miss Withers staring back at him.

Miss Withers was 38 years old, long blonde hair down to her waist and cold blue eyes. Most of the boys fantasized about being with her. Kurt couldn't stand her.

"Is this device more important than my lesson, Mr. Hummel?" She asked, eyes cold and calculating.

Kurt bit his tongue and shook his head, not wanting to get in any more trouble.

It was then that his phone rang.

The room grew eerily quiet as the tinkling echoed from the phone in Kurt's hand. Miss Withers already thin lips pursed together, her blue eyes bulging at his audacity. As if Kurt could control when his phone rang. Kurt stared straight into her eyes as he answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Kurt." Karofsky began to speak, and then his voice was gone, replaced by a breeze by his ear. "Wha?" Kurt looked up, just in time to see Miss Withers' long, manicured fingernails snapping his phone shut.

"That's enough of that, Mr. Hummel."

*****************************RING*****************************************

"Hey, Kurt!"

Kurt winced and hurried faster down the stairs, toward the lunch room, but Blaine was already next to him. Kurt had barely spoken to him since Blaine had admitted to loving him, and he could tell it was hurting the boy. But what could Kurt say? "I'm sorry, but I'm worried that a serial killer might come after you in the night if I admit that I'm crazy about you. We would totally be having gay babies right now if that weren't the case."

"Blaine." That was cold enough, wasn't it? There was no way Karofsky could hurt him over that.

"H-hey," Blaine's courage drained out of him at Kurt's cold answer, "I-I was wondering if you wanted to c-come over later tonight. We're having an unofficial Warbler party. Kind of a bonding thing before the next concert." His eyes were wide, an almost smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"Can't. Withers gave me detention."

"Oh. … We could have it tomorrow night if you want?"

"I have detention every night this week." In retrospect, maybe Kurt shouldn't have cursed Miss Withers out.

"Oh. I understand," Blaine said, his eyes drifting to the ground. "Um, Kurt? There was something else I was going to ask you."

"Ask, then," Kurt couldn't meet his eyes.

"About the concert, I was wondering if you could take part of my solo."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's this one note, towards the end? No matter what I do, I just can't hit it quite right."

"You've always sounded fine in rehearsals," Kurt said.

"Yeah, but the thing is, my dad told me last night that he's coming to watch. Kurt, my dad has never seen me sing before; he's always said it's a waste of time. And every time I think about him sitting in the audience, w-watching me." Blaine's voice broke and he cleared his throat, turning red with shame. "I can sing the rest of it fine, but that one note… You could hit it, couldn't you?"

"Absolutely," Kurt said.

"I-I just want to make him proud of me," Blaine said.

"I understand," Kurt said gently.

"So you'll do it?"

"Of course," Kurt said. He reached the cafeteria and picked up a meal tray without really looking at what it was. He turned to leave, only to have Blaine grab his arm.

"Listen, Kurt, I'm really sorry. What I said was wrong, it was selfish, and… I'll never say it again, I promise. But I miss being your friend. I miss talking to you. And I know how hard it's been for you, especially lately. I want to help you. Please don't shut me out."

For the first time, Kurt looked in Blaine's eyes, and saw the tears shining there. He wanted more than anything to tell him that it would be alright. But he couldn't. "I just think its better that we're not friends. At least, not right now. I know about how you feel, and I just… I don't want you to get hurt." In so many ways.

"Kurt, I - "

"Give it up, Blaine."

Blaine face froze for a moment, and then he was gone, carrying his own tray to go sit by Wes and David.

Kurt wanted to run after him, to apologize, but this was better for both of them. It turned out to be the right choice. His phone rang as soon as he sat down.

"Hello?"

"You hung up on me."

The words knocked in Kurt's head, "I didn't. It was Miss Withers. I would have called you back if I could, but I don't have your number." The excuse sounded hollow and weak in his ears.

"Oh, do I need to punish her?"

"No," Kurt said. He hated Miss Withers, but he could never set Karofsky on her. "No, I think I punished her enough myself."

"That's my baby," Karofsky breathed, and Kurt wanted to throw up. He played with his food, pushing it around with no real intention of eating it. "It's too bad I've already administered your punishment."

"What? No!" Kurt said, just as Blaine started screaming from across the room.

"No! Somebody help!"

Kurt turned in slow motion to see Wes on the ground, flailing and clutching his throat. His eyes were bugging out of their sockets and his breathing was loud and strained. David had flung himself onto the ground beside his friend, trying desperately to help him. Blaine stared down at them helplessly, one hand covering his mouth. A boy ran out of the door, screaming for a teacher. Wes gasped, flinging his head back against the floor.

"Did Wes ever mention that he's allergic to peanuts?"


	11. Burning Bridges

The Warblers sat outside the emergency room. The doctor had come and gone, but none of the Warblers moved.

Wes was in a coma.

The doctors had hope that he would wake up, sure, but the realism of it, the weight of wondering whether Wes would survive aged all of them. Most of the boys had never seen anyone in a coma before. Trent's grandfather had been in one, but he died, and the story wasn't exactly comforting. Kurt had the story of his Dad's coma, how the doctors didn't think he would wake up for a while there, and he did. Kurt must have repeated it for the Warbler's a dozen times. Even when his voice started getting hoarse, his throat screaming for water, Kurt didn't stop talking. He liked the hope the story put into the Warbler's faces.

It was his fault this was happening anyway. He boys chalked up the many things that went wrong on Wes' way to the hospital. How, for the first time in Dalton history, no phones in the Dalton cafeteria would work. Blaine had to run outside to make the emergency call. How a rival group had come just that afternoon and slashed half the tires in the parking lot. How none of the boys could find their epipens, including Blaine.

Kurt closed his eyes in cold horror when David asked Blaine where his epipen was and Blaine replied frantically that he couldn't find it. When Kurt realized that it could just as easily be Blaine lying on that floor, dying for lack of air. It was terrifying enough when it was Wes. Sweet, caring, adorably pompous Wes, who'd never hurt another human being in his life. Kurt remembered that moment when, in a fit of rock induced anger, Jeff had slapped Nick across the face. Kurt had never seen Wes so angry, "A true gentleman can never condone such a flimsy excuse for… violence."

Kurt's phone was silent beside him, and for the first time since this whole nightmare started, he wanted it to ring. He wanted to kill Karofsky for this, wanted to pick up that phone and call him back and demand that he tell him why Wes had to suffer when he hadn't even done anything.

Kurt was distracted when Blaine walked in and collapsed.

Luckily, David was right behind him, and managed to catch Blaine before he hit the ground. The Warbler's rushed up in unison.

"Is he okay?"

"Blaine, c'mon man, not you, too."

"Blaine!" Kurt said. He hit his knees in front of the other boy, grabbed his shoulders and began shaking. "Blaine, are you okay? Please be okay, please, Blaine! Blaine!"

"I think he's just exhausted," David said. "He's been running around like a maniac for hours."

"Blaine!" Kurt said.

Blaine gasped and rushed forward, burying Kurt in a hug and his face in Kurt's collar. "This is all my fault!"

"No, Blaine, no," Kurt said. His hand began rubbing circles into Blaine's back unconsciously, rubbing back and forth, back and forth.

"Yes, it is. I can't believe I was so stupid. I can't believe I - "

"What did you do?" David said.

Blaine sobbed, struggling to breathe, "I gave Wes the pudding. It was supposed to be mine, but Wes asked if he could have some and… you know how Wes is about sharing food so I said, "Here, have the first bite," and…. I didn't know, I swear! There weren't supposed to be peanuts in there, I'm allergic to peanuts, too! What have I done?"

Kurt was lucky he was already on his knees.

It was supposed to be Blaine. Karofsky meant it to be Blaine in that coma. Wes was just as well, still a punishment, but if it had been Blaine… Kurt held Blaine tighter. Blaine was beginning to get hysterical, and some of the nurses were looking at them as though battling whether to send him to a doctor. "Why don't you take Blaine outside; let him calm down?" David said. Kurt nodded, and walked Blaine out the door. The other Warbler's went back to their seats.

"He and David are my best friends. Wes and I first met because Jeff brought a bag of Reese's Pieces and neither of us could have any. It was the first week after I got to Dalton, I'd barely had time to audition for the Warbler's and I didn't know anyone. Jeff felt so bad about it, but I was too thrilled to finally have a friend to notice. And now I almost killed him!" Blaine began sobbing again as Kurt sat him down in a gazebo on the hospital grounds. Most of it was enclosed; Karofsky would practically have to stand outside of a door or window to see them.

"Blaine, look at me! You aren't responsible for any of this. You didn't know this would happen. You are the most loving, compassionate, amazing person I have ever met, and I need you to - "

Kurt was interrupted by Blaine's lips on his.

It was very warm, and wet, and soft. Blaine's face was still wet and the inside of Kurt's mouth exploded with salt and coffee and he tasted like strawberries… Kurt moaned into the kiss, and hesitantly pushed his fingers into the back of Blaine's neck, upwards into the curls Blaine sometimes forgot to gel at the base. He put his other hand on Blaine's hip, squeezing gently and pulling him closer. Blaine whimpered happily and wrapped his arms around Kurt's shoulders, squeezing in a gentle hug. Kissing Blaine felt amazing, like he'd been waiting for this forever. It was nothing like Brittany's bold carelessness, or the crushing pressure of Karofsky.

Karofsky…

"You're so strong," Blaine said, "I feel so safe when I'm with you, Kurt. Like you'll protect me from everything."

Kurt looked into Blaine's perfect, beautiful, vulnerable hazel eyes. Kurt felt his face hardened into a dark sneer, preparation for what he had to do. He had to protect Blaine.

"What the hell was that?"

Blaine's quiet gasp sliced through his heart, "What?"

"What, you thought you could just kiss me like that? You didn't even ask me, what if I'd said no?"

"But I thought…"

"You thought what?" Kurt said. Blaine was crying again, silent tears that he tried to hold back. Kurt hated himself. "You thought I belonged to you, like your fancy car and your precious school? Blaine, you are such an arrogant jerk! What, you thought you could just take what you wanted?"

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, "I'm sorry, Kurt, please…"

"How dare you kiss me like this, when you know I'm vulnerable? How dare you take advantage of me? You're just like him, Blaine! Just like Karofsky! I hate you! I hate you!" Kurt ran away from the gazebo. Thank heavens he'd never missed a drama club meeting. He could hear Blaine behind him, the boy's broken sobs echoing his own breaking heart.

Kurt's phone began ringing. Kurt answered it with only a passing glance at the screen. "Please don't hurt him, please don't hurt him!"

"Good boy."

The call ended and Kurt collapsed to his knees, sobbing his heart out into the grass. Blaine was safe. Blaine was safe, and that was all that mattered. But heavens...

When was this going to end?


	12. The Cavalry's Here

Kurt kept his head down and his eyes on his paper. Blaine sat at the other end of the room, head down and eyes on his own paper. They took Theatre together so they could hang out more, but now…

It was so hard not to apologize to him. So hard not to explain what was going on. Kurt was dying to kiss him again. He could almost picture the sweet little smile on Blaine's face growing as Kurt told him that he loved him back, that he'd always loved him, that he was always going to protect him. That is, if Blaine still wanted him, which was doubtful. Kurt bit the tip off of his pencil eraser.

"Is there a Kurt Hummel here?"

The students tuned in unison, all except Blaine, who winced at the sound of Kurt's name and stared resolutely forward. Kurt turned to see a woman in a crisp police uniform scanning the room. A sensation of being dipped into a cold bath shuddered over him.

'Don't go to the police.'

Kurt stood up stiffly and followed the officer into an empty classroom. A heavyset man in a grey janitorial uniform was vacuuming, but scurried out when fixed with the officer's cold gaze. She was probably about 35, with short blonde hair and a face that would be pretty, if she learned to put on mascara correctly. If Kurt wasn't panicking so much, he would be planning a makeover in his head.

"My name is Sheriff Dew, and I wanted to talk to you about what happened to Wes Leung?"

"It was an accident," Kurt said. "Something went wrong in the kitchen."

The officer sighed, "I think there's a lot more to it than that, Kurt. There are a lot of coincidences, aren't there? There are only seven boys at Dalton who have food allergies severe enough to require that they carry an epipen. Only three of those boys were in that lunch hour. All three had their pens stolen, and the extras were taken from the nurse's office earlier that day. Tires were slashed in the parking lot, but the security footage from that afternoon has disappeared. Someone just happened to bring a cell phone blocker to the cafeteria. One of the students saw you talking on your phone just before the blocker was activated. Who were you talking to, Kurt?"

"M-my dad."

"If we call him, will he tell us that?"

Kurt dropped his eyes to the desk, "No."

"Who were you talking to?" Kurt didn't answer. Dew sighed. "We know this wasn't an accident. The cafeteria wasn't serving any peanuts that day. There's no reason they should have even been out."

"Oh…"

Dew must have seen how much he was trembling, because her tone softened. "No one thinks you had anything to do with this. But the headmaster, Professor Dorian? He tells us that you've had some strange things done to your property lately. Is that true?"

Kurt shrugged, "It was a stupid prank."

"You know, Kurt, what these guys do, it's not magic. I know it can seem overwhelming, but the person who did this is just as human as the rest of us. Did you know that the head office at Dalton has a list of the students with severe food allergies and their lunch hour? They have to have that list widely available so that on days when foods with peanuts or milk or seafood are served, the workers can make special plates for Wes and the other boys. They also have a list of student dorm rooms. If someone could pick a lock or have a key to a room, they could get in and steal an epipen or kill someone's pet bird – "

Kurt's jaw tightened, "I don't want to talk about that."

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me. All I'm trying to tell you is that you don't have to be scared. There's an explanation for all of this. If someone is hurting you or the other boys, you can come to me, okay? Here's my number."

Kurt closed his fingers around it tightly, "Thank you."

"Oh, and I heard that you Dalton boys are doing a concert tonight. Good luck."

Dew's number was still in Kurt's pocket as he walked away from the classroom. Karofsky was human. Kurt felt a slight weight lift off of his shoulders. There was no reason to be afraid.

But his heart still thudded unevenly when his phone started to ring.

"I saw you. What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything."

"What did she say to you?"

"That there's an explanation for everything you're doing," Kurt said, and then, in a rush of bravery, "That you're a coward, and she's going to catch you."

Kurt expected Karofsky to get angry, but he didn't. Instead he laughed, a cold, hysterical, unnatural laugh that sent shivers down Kurt's spine.

"Break a leg tonight, Kurtie."


	13. What's Wrong

"He's planning something."

Kurt glanced into the mirror. The other boys had just left to talk to their families before the fundraiser began. Kurt had slipped into the bathroom to tighten his tie and try to calm down.

"Break a leg… what does that mean? What did I do, what does he want me to do? Whatever it is, it can't be too bad, right? He's only human after all. He's only human, don't be afraid, break a leg… ah!" Kurt slumped against the sink, trying to subtly apply blush and put some color back in his cheeks.

He leaped away from the sink and slid his compact shut when Blaine walked in. But Blaine didn't seem to notice Kurt, rushing instead to the nearest stall and emptying his stomach into it. Thad trailed in after him.

"Not so bad?" Blaine moaned from his position on the floor. "My dad is out there! You know, the six foot tall former quarterback from whose loins I sprung? The man who made sure that my first outfit was a Notre Dame onesie? The man who's about to watch me dance around and sing like some sort of - " and Blaine leaned forward, retching into the toilet once again.

"You'll be fine, Blaine," Thad said. Then he turned to Kurt and said under his breath, "But, just between you and me? I'm glad you're taking the high note."

Kurt nodded and smiled, his lips stretching too tightly over his teeth. He was supposed to be excited. He had his first Dalton solo tonight. Kurt watched his lips stretch out into a smile in the mirror, checking to make sure it reached his eyes. It was a very good thing he was an actor.

He walked backstage, to where the boys lined up, identical uniform, identical sharp, clean appearances. A few boys reached for friend's hands, squeezing them reassuringly. David tried to reach for Kurt, but he backed away silently. David's face was pinched, but he didn't argue. Kurt felt a stab of guilt; it was his fault that David was alone. Still, it was best that Kurt didn't look too close to anyone right now.

He chanced a glance at Blaine. The boy still looked a bit green around the edges of his face; he noticed Kurt looking at him, and gave Kurt a furtive smile, before Thad reclaimed his attention. The burning jealousy in Kurt's gut was so familiar it almost numbed him. Thad barked something into a backstage microphone, and the chattering of the audience died down. Kurt's eyes darted away from Blaine, staring forward as the curtain rose.

Show time.

The Warbler set went off without a hitch, the Warblers performing with their usual brand of fun, predictable excellence. For once, Kurt did not resent Blaine's clear tenor rising about the group for song after song. It was nice to feel watched without that creeping sense of wrongness that haunted him, to give himself over to the music like this. Besides, his time in the spotlight was coming fast.

He could see Carole, Dad, and Finn in the audience. Finn looked slightly uncomfortable, eyeing the monocle the woman next to him was sporting as if he had never seen anything like it. Which, barring Mr. Peanut ads, he probably hadn't. Carole was also looking at the assorted guests, and smiling as she occasionally whispered in her husband's ear. Probably something about how nice everything looked – Carole was sweet like that. Kurt met his father's eyes. Dad smiled and held up two thumbs, his eyes locked on Kurt even though Blaine was front and center.

Before Kurt knew it, the warbler's voices were lowering, the boys moving into formation as they began a slow ballad. Blaine began singing in his key, but Kurt knew just from listening that he wouldn't be able to hit the top note, not with the way his voice was shaking. It was subtle – Blaine was a good enough performer to hide it. Kurt readied himself to take over, as soon as Blaine got through the first chorus. Blaine began it, his voice trembling harder than ever.

Kurt's phone rang.

The ring tone Kurt set for the unknown number was loud and shrill, it cut through the auditorium, without competition once Blaine stopped to take a breath.

The Warbler's faltered for a moment, coming back stronger to make up for the distraction. Kurt's heart hammered in his ears, drowning them out. He could feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. He needed to answer it; that was the only way to keep everyone he loved safe. Only human was nothing but a fragile excuse; Karofsky didn't need to be more than human to ruin everything he loved.

Kurt ran offstage.

He could feel Blaine glancing at the back of his neck, hear Blaine's voice falter and crack as he tried – and failed – to hit the note that was meant for Kurt.

"Forgive me," Kurt whispered. He answered his phone.

"You sang beautifully. Just like an angel should," Karofsky whispered.

"I was supposed to sing a solo. If you hadn't have interrupted me, you would have heard more." Kurt rushed into the choir room, where the boy's had practiced before the show. The other Warblers would find him easily there, they'd ask him what he was thinking, why his phone was even on during the concert… but they would ask him that anyway, and it was better to face things sooner than later.

"I wanted to test your loyalty," Karofsky said, "And to let you know that I've thought up a suitable punishment for your cheek this afternoon."

"Haven't you punished me enough?" Kurt hissed, "You've made my life one punishment after another, is it ever going to be enough for you?"

"I only punish you when you deserve it, Kurt."

"Why me? Why are you doing this?" Kurt asked.

"I don't know, Kurt. I guess I just feel… drawn to you. I've never felt this way about another boy. You intoxicate me, you infuriate me. And I need you to think of me as much as I think of you. I need you to be willing to give everything up to me, Kurt. And if you can't, I'll take everything until I'm all you have left. Good bye, Kurt."

The line went dead, and Kurt shuddered. He could hear rustling in the hall, then voices, raised as someone – or a group of someone's – ran his way.

"You shouldn't be getting so worked up; it was a great show."

"Yeah, it was one little mix-up, you can't let it set you back like this… Blaine, wait!"

The next thing Kurt knew, the choir room doors flew open, and Blaine stood in the doorway. He was short as ever, but strangely intimidating with his face twisted in rage.

"Why?" He said.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, "I got a phone call, a family emergency…"

"Your family was sitting in the front row. If you are mad at me, Kurt, then say that you're mad at me, but do not give me excuses, and do not patronize me… I knew that you had a problem with me, but I never thought you would be this vindictive. I relied on you, I trusted you!"

"Blaine!" A man rushed into the doorway, led by David and Thad. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with slick dark hair and burning dark eyes. Blaine locked eyes with his father, whimpered, and spun back around to face Kurt.

"I have never been so humiliated in my entire life," Blaine said, "And I will never forgive you for this."

Kurt was suddenly, forcefully reminded of Rachel Berry as Blaine turned on his heel and began to storm away. But while either of Rachel's dads would have followed her silently, Blaine's dad stopped him, hands on his shoulders.

"Blaine, what is wrong with you?" Blaine's dad said. It wasn't harsh, more gentle and pleading than anything.

"I could ask my boy the same thing." Kurt's heart plummeted as his father and Carole joined Blaine's father at the door, "Kurt, what is up with you? I've never seen you act like this, you've been jumpy, way too attached to your phone, and now I hear from your principal that someone broke into your room? Why didn't you tell me that was going on, huh?"

"I d-don't… I don't know, Dad. I'm sorry…"

"This isn't like you," Burt said, staring at his son. Kurt was afraid of this. A few looks, a tiny bit of information, and Dad would be able to put the pieces together. He was always perceptive, too perceptive; especially when it came to people he loved.

"Kurt's a pretty good actor when he wants to be," Blaine said. It was both a welcome distraction for his father and a punch in Kurt's gut. The venom in Blaine's voice was only too clear.

Blaine's father noticed it, too, and his grip on Blaine tightened, still gentle, but firm. "Blaine, that was rude. You need to apologize."

"I am not apologizing to him!"

"I'm sorry, but this is not a discussion. I am your father, and I am telling you what you need to do. There's no reason for you to be this upset, I don't even know why you're mad at this boy."

Blaine stared into his father's eyes and the room fell perfectly silent. The only sound left was Blaine's broken whisper, "He hurt me, Daddy."

Kurt winced. Blaine's father wrapped his arms around his son, pressing the boy's face to his shirt. "I'm sorry, baby boy. We'll talk about it some more when we get home, okay?"

"Yeah, Kurt, I'm thinking the same thing," Burt said, "Come on."

But Kurt was suddenly frozen, staring at his family. Karofsky's threat had been rattling around in his brain, and it suddenly stuck on his family.

"Where's Finn?" He asked. Burt and Carole froze, "Where's Finn!"

"He went to use the bathroom," Carole asked, her face tight with worry, "Honey, what's wrong?" But Kurt was running out the door before she could finish her sentence.

"Finn's my punishment."


	14. The Rules Change

Kurt ran to the bathroom. The faces of concerned parents sped past him, Carole's voice rising in desperation behind him, "Did something happen to Finn?" Kurt threw open the doors to the bathroom and began pounding on stall doors.

"Finn! Finn!"

"Hey, what's your problem? Guy trying to use the loo, here!"

Kurt backed away, glancing under the doors. No sign of the hideous baggy jeans Finn wore tonight. Kurt was too focused on finding Finn to feel embarrassed when one of the stall doors flew open, and Trent caught him peeking underneath.

"Are you looking for someone?" Trent said, politely. His eyes were darting to Kurt's, questioning, but Kurt knew he wouldn't ask, and frankly, he didn't care.

"I'm looking for my brother. He's tall, wearing hideous baggy jeans and a t-shirt, and I, I just really need to find him!"

"Oh, young Finnegan!" Trent said brightly, ignoring Kurt's growing panic. Kurt was grateful, rather than irritated; the last thing he needed was to waste time fending off Trent's concern on top of everything else. "Yes, he was trying to call his girlfriend, but the phones weren't working in here. Strange, isn't it? I told him that we've been losing reception left and right lately, and he should try the parking lot." And then Trent turned away, washing his hands under gold plated taps. Kurt ran out the door and toward the parking lot as fast as he could.

Kurt heard the pounding of feet behind him, and the murmurs of the people he shoved to the side as he ran past. The woman with the monocle shrieked as he knocked her aside; the tinkling sound of glass breaking barely reached his ears. He hit the doors and slammed into them, pain crushing his palms as cold night air stung his face.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Kurt spun in the direction of the scream, and watched in horror as his brother's long form crumpled to the ground. Kurt was on his knees by Finn's side before he could think. "Finn! Finn, come on, wake up! Finn… Oh, my…"

Kurt's eyes traveled to Finn's left leg, which was twisted at an unnatural angle, warm blood flowing from beneath it to fill in the cracks in the cold cement. Kurt watched it, transfixed until his view was obscured by a large black boot.

Finn shrieked in pain as his broken leg was stomped on again. Kurt's eyes travelled up the leg to a huge figure dressed all in black. "What is wrong with you, you psycho!" Kurt screamed.

Large hands, covered in thick black leather gloves wrapped themselves around Kurt's biceps and yanked upward; Kurt found himself crushed against a broad, heaving chest, staring into a black ski mask, with Karofsky's voice dropped to a low growl as it hissed in his ear, "You shouldn't have misbehaved, Kurt. Now all the rules have changed."

Kurt kicked feebly, too afraid to fight, terrified to struggle away. Finn sobbed weakly with pain under their combined weight. Karofsky pulled Kurt even closer, the fleece around his mouth brushing against Kurt's ear. Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing quick and pained as tears began forming in the back of his eyes.

"Get off of him!"

Kurt dropped to the ground as Karofsky grunted in surprise. Blaine may be small, but running from the door of the school had given him momentum, and he successfully managed to knock the air of Karofsky and back him into the car he'd parked behind them. Blaine even managed to get one more punch in before Karofsky's huge, black fist collided with the side of his head.

Kurt screamed, "Blaine!"

Blaine's father, who had finally fought his way through the crowd behind his son, gave a growl of rage and screamed, "Don't you ever touch my boy!"

Kurt crawled over to Blaine and pulled his limp body away to the side walk. Kurt's parents had followed Blaine's father, and Carole was currently hovering over her son, taking his pulse with shaking hands and paying no attention to the men fighting two feet away. Burt ran to Kurt's side, loudly demanded, "Is that the guy who's doing all this?" And rushed to join Mr. Anderson, who was punching every inch of Karofsky he could reach.

"Dad," Kurt said, "Dad, no, please, you're sick." But Blaine was stirring in his arms, slowly sitting up and rubbing the blood out of his eyes, "Blaine, oh, thank goodness. Are you okay?"

Blaine turned his head to the fight, just in time to see Karofsky pull out a gun and aim it at his father.

The parking lot went silent, the bystanders who had wandered out after the shouting and yelling fell into a hushed sort of shock. Burt and Mr. Anderson went still, both of their eyes trained on the gun in Karofsky's hand. Blaine whimpered, getting to his knees, "Daddy?"

"Blaine, don't move," Mr. Anderson barked. His eyes flickered to his child for an instant, and then darted back to the gun. Karofsky's shoulders shook with silent laughter. He got into his car and drove away.

...

For the second in his life, Kurt was sleeping in Blaine's room. Blaine silently set up his bed on the floor, tilting his head toward his bed, for Kurt to climb into.

Blaine bit his bottom lip, dark eyes darting to Kurt. An ugly bruise was covering one side of Blaine's face, blacking out one eye. Kurt's insides rose with guilt. Thanks to him, Blaine had a black eye and was sleeping on the floor and Kurt's family was sleeping in a hospital room twenty miles away. Finn was going to be fine, but he had a broken leg and a thousand cuts and bruises from the beating. Kurt, who wasn't eighteen yet, had to stay at Dalton. Blaine had promised his dad that he would look after him.

"I thought you were mad at me," Kurt said.

"I am," Blaine said, "But I can't leave you alone like this, not after what happened."

Kurt closed his eyes, exhausted and touched, "You are… an amazing person, Blaine."

"Please, don't," Blaine whispered.

Kurt swallowed, hard, and climbed into Blaine's bed. Blaine collapsed into a chair by Kurt's bedside, steadfastly looking everywhere but at Kurt. David was sleeping in the other bed; he hadn't even stirred when the boys walked in. Blaine sighed and reached for the bottle of sleeping pills the doctor had sent home with Kurt, "You should take these."

Kurt swallowed the pills without complaint, washing them down with a glass of water. He settled back into bed. The drugs quickly took effect, making everything blurry and driving Kurt into sleep. His stomach felt a little queasy, his mind vulnerable, so when Blaine shifted in his chair Kurt was saying, "Please, don't leave me," before he could stop himself.

"I won't," Blaine said. Kurt sighed and fell asleep.

Blaine stayed awake by Kurt's side long after the boy's breathing evened out and his eyelashes stopped fluttering. There was a large lump in Blaine's throat that refused to go away. He had never felt so betrayed, and hurt, and scared in his entire life. Kurt's phone lay, innocent, on Blaine's desk, and Blaine was seized by a sudden, irrational desire to break it. That stupid phone that Kurt always carried around, that Kurt thought was more important than him, than them…

The phone rang.

Kurt shuddered violently in his sleep, but didn't move. Blaine cast a furtive look at his sleeping crush as he picked it up, staring at the flashing letters spelling out "Unknown number" across the screen. He lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"


	15. It's Over

Kurt woke up to a strange fuzziness in his head and the sound of his phone ringing wildly beside his head. He jumped, grabbed it, only to see his father's face light up his phone screen. He sighed and answered the call, "Hello?"

"Why didn't you tell me some psycho was calling you?"

Kurt sucked in a deep breath, "Who told you - "

"Don't you try lying to me, Kurt! Right now I'm standing in a police station listening to a message your friend Blaine left on Sheriff Dew's phone."

Kurt jerked his whole body around to the sound of water running in the bathroom. As soon as Blaine got out of the shower, he was going to kill him; hadn't Blaine realized that he'd ruined everything? "Dad, I can explain..."

"He called you last night, Blaine answered the phone. The kid's really shaken up, the guy told him all kinds of things he's been telling you to do. He's the reason you were standing out in the cold nearly freezing to death, the reason you've been keeping your phone glued to your side... Goll, Kurt, I never thought you would do something like this, put yourself in danger like this."

"He threatened to kill you," Kurt said, "He threatened to kill you and Carole and everyone if I told."

"That's all the more reason you should have told somebody, Kurt."

"He's going to try and kill you now!" Kurt shouted. The sound of the shower going faltered then continued; that coward. "I did what I did because I had to protect you, and now that that idiot has gone and told, you are all in danger!"

Dad was silent for a long moment. His voice, when he finally spoke again, was choked with emotion.

"You are just like your mother." It was the thing his father said when he couldn't think of a higher compliment, and Kurt sighed with relief that he was forgiven. "You don't have to protect us, Kurt. I wish you could understand that. Listen to me, kiddo, no one is in danger anymore. Sheriff Dew's been putting patrols on everyone until we catch this guy. There are some officers headed to Dalton right now. Just sit tight and you'll be safe, kid."

Kurt sat at the phone, staring forward numbly. Could it really be over? Was Blaine telling the police really going to end everything. "I'm safe?"

"You're safe, Kurt. Everyone is safe. He lost, and we're going to find that son of a bitch, okay?"

Kurt slumped over on his bed, the reality filling him with strength, like a weight being lifted from his shoulders. He was safe. Everyone was safe. It was over. It was at that moment that Kurt's phone buzzed in his hand. "That's him, Dad, he's calling."

"You tell that bastard what a Hummel's made of."

Kurt couldn't wait to follow his dad's advice.

"Hello, Kurtie."

"Don't call me that," Kurt growled, "In fact, don't call me ever again!"

"... Well, well, well. What inspired this change of attitude?"

"You shouldn't have talked to Blaine. He figured out everything, and he told the police and now-"

"I know what that idiot boy has done."

"Don't you call Blaine an idiot!" Kurt said, despite having called Blaine that himself moments ago, "Blaine isn't stupid, he's brave. Braver than you'll ever be. He's the one who taught me about courage, and he beat you. He told the police and now you're never going to be able to hurt anyone ever again."

"I know that the police have been told. That's not why I'm calling. I'm calling to tell you my new rules."

"No," Kurt said firmly. "There won't be any more rules." But the light, confident tone in Karofsky's voice was putting a slight puncture in his joy.

"I told you the rules have changed. I'm here to outline my new expectations. Here's how it goes; I am going to call you. You won't know when or where the call is coming from, but you will answer that call. You're still mine. And if you fail to answer my calls even one more time, I'll kill him."

Kurt's body jerked reflexively, terrified by the promise behind the words, but he wasn't scared, he refused to be scared...

"The police are on to you," Kurt said. "They're going to catch you. You won't be able to kill anyone else, they're guarding every place you could sneak into..."

"I don't have to sneak anywhere, Kurt. I have the boy I plan to kill right next to me."

The words were soft, so polite and conversational that they're meaning didn't hit Kurt until long after Karofsky had spoken. Kurt could hardly breath once they did. All the people Karofsky could hurt flashed in front of him. Finn, Puck, Eric, Trent, David... "Who did you take?" Kurt said.

But then the door to the bathroom flew open and David stepped out of the bathroom and cold crashed over Kurt's body; he knew exactly who Karofsky had.

"Do you want to talk to him?" Karofsky chuckled darkly, and Kurt listened as a phone was shuffled. A new voice sounded, a pained groan in the background, and Kurt's heart jumped. He knew that voice, but it couldn't possibly be... there was no way...

"Kurt," The voice whispered, and Kurt's world crashed around him.

"Blaine?"


	16. Just A Little Bit Wrong

"Kurt, I'm sorry. I messed up; I really messed up."

"It's okay, everything's okay."

Everything was not okay. Kurt's hands were shaking; his mind playing a never ending chorus of 'He has Blaine; Karofsky has Blaine, dammit, dammit, dammit...' But Blaine's voice was high with fear, his breathing getting tight and panicked and Kurt had to say something to calm him down.

"I should have listened to you," Blaine said. "He told me everything, how he was torturing you and making you do things and I didn't listen, I didn't..."

"Blaine, you need to breathe," Kurt said.

"I-I can't." And Blaine's voice was suddenly trembling, "I'm scared."

"I know, I know, I'm scared too." There was a yell of pain on the other end of the line, "Blaine? Blaine, what's wrong? What's happening, are you okay?"

"He's fine." Karofsky.

"You let him go," Kurt said.

"... Don't you love that part of the game when everything goes just a little bit wrong? Heightens everything, doesn't it? Makes you feel just a little bit more alive."

"Let. Him. Go!"

"You know, I have played this game over and over again. And this is still my favorite part. See, you fags aren't very good at following instructions. Especially little Blaine here." And Karofsky started laughing, "I had to come and get him myself! In the middle of the night, when you were sleeping in his bed. Did you hear him screaming for you, Kurt?"

Kurt winced, wanting to pull the phone away from his ear.

"You always wind up losing the first round. And so I up the stakes. I take it to the next level."

"And what are the rules?" Kurt asked.

"It's sort of like... hide and go seek. You can enlist help in this round; talk to the police, tell everyone you know about me. And you get to search for ten days. Every day I'll call you, and every day you get to talk to little Mr. Blanderson here. We'll have a party. But if ten days pass and you haven't found us... I get him. And then I get you."

Kurt gagged; the tone in Karofsky's voice left no doubt as to what he meant. "I can tell them everything I know?"

"Everything," Karpfsky said silkily. "But I should warn you, Kurt, I never lose this round. I'm very good at making people believe what they want to believe. And in the interest of full disclosure, I'm going to send you on a little quest, okay?"

"What?"

"Oh, you can decide not to go, of course. But I'm afraid it will make finding Blaine that much harder in the end. And I know it seems like ten days is a lifetime, but you'll find it really isn't that much time at all. I have to make the game interesting, you know."

"What do you need me to do?" Kurt asked.

"Oh, you're more cooperative already. What I need you to do is go to a bus stop on the corner of 5th and Rowe. That should be about two blocks from the charming little cafe where you and Blaine used to get your afternoon pick me up. I'll expect you there in about an hour, shall I?"

"Yes."

"Lovely. Oh, and Kurt? If you're worried about my intentions, you can always tell Blaine's roommate where you're going."

Kurt locked eyes with David Warbler who sat across the room wearing nothing but a towel and a quizzical expression. "David, I need you to do something for me."

...

An hour later, Kurt sat at the bus stop by the Lima Bean. The bus had come and gone, Kurt's phone had rung no less than six times, but none of the calls were from Karofsky. Most of them were from his Dad; Kurt chose to ignore them. Dad would only yell at him for being stupid enough to walk out of the school alone with a psycho on his tail. Kurt didn't need that kind of stress on top of everything else.

A few passing strangers gave him sideways glances, obviously curious about the pale, dark haired boy with his determined expression and wrecked appearance, sitting alone at the stop as though waiting for something much more important than a bus.

Kurt counted the minutes he'd been waiting and began to wonder whether it had been a bad idea to wait here alone. Was Karofsky only doing this to mess with him, or had the jock decided to take him, too? Kurt wasn't sure how to best help Blaine, but he was fairly certain being kidnapped himself was not exactly helpful. Kurt was just deciding that it did no good to wait here any longer and he'd better head back home when a voice sounded behind him.

"Hey, Hummel."

Kurt spun in a circle, taking in the person who had met him in one glance. Kurt gasped and felt all the blood in his face drain down to his toes.

Dave Karofsky was standing in front of him.


	17. Who are You?

_A/N: I'm thinking of turning this into a crossover with Criminal Minds, from about the next chapter on through. Since this story has a rather large fan base, I thought I would ask before adding a few new characters. Not that I'm asking before dropping this next bombshell on you... oh, well..._

Kurt leaped to his feet and backed away, the backs of his knees smacking against the wood of the bench behind him. In the time since he'd seen him, Kurt had built up Karofsky's appearance in his head to a monstrous degree. The boy standing in front of him was slightly shorter and pudgier than the Karofsky in his mind. But his face was the same face that had haunted his dreams, his eyes the same eyes that had followed Kurt for weeks, the same hand that had clapped itself over Blaine's mouth to keep him from screaming...

And Kurt couldn't find itself in him to be afraid. What he felt instead of fear was rage.

Karofsky's brown eyes scanned his face, something in their expression melting into concern, "What's wrong with you?"

"Where. Is. He?"

"Who are you talking about?"

And Kurt lost it. He threw himself at the other boy, ignoring the difference in their heights and body type in favor of hitting every inch of the other boy he could reach.

"Where is he, you son of a bitch!" Kurt screamed, "Tell me where he is!"

Having Karofsky's physical presence cleared up everything. As long as Karofsky was here in front of him, he couldn't keep hiding in the shadows. He couldn't threaten Kurt or hurt Blaine. Well, hurt Blaine any more... Kurt struggled to breathe, picturing Blaine alone in the dark, curled up and absolutely terrified...

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Karofsky screamed. He shoved Kurt away, and the rich brown of Karofsky's eyes vanished, replaced with the black of the pavement. Kurt felt a spike of terror as he hit the ground hard. Karofsky was so much stronger than he was...

"It's over, okay?" Kurt gasped, "It's over, please, I don't want to play anymore. Please, give him back, don't hurt him. I'll do whatever you want, just make this end." He looked up. His eyes were dry. "You can make this end."

Karofsky's eyes were wide. His large fists were trembling, "What are you talking about?"

"Wha- ... what are you talking about?" Kurt said, "Don't you play games with me. This is not a game anymore, do you hear me?" Kurt straightened, got to his feet. An old woman was staring at them from the bistro across the street. "The moment you took Blaine, you turned this into something much bigger than a game. I love him. I'll do anything for him."

It was true, and Kurt's muscles tensed, ready to back up his words. But Karofsky wasn't leaping at him, wasn't even moving, just staring at him with this furious lack of... anything. A particularly hard hit from Kurt had raised a bruise on his cheek, but he barely seemed to notice it.

"Hummel... Kurt. Is everything okay?" He asked.

This wasn't right. Kurt knew that. Karofsky wasn't acting like the psychopath he remembered, wasn't taunting him the way he was supposed to. This Karofsky was picking him up and dusting him off, worry filling his eyes. He wasn't quite as big as Kurt remembered from the parking lot.

If Kurt hadn't been quite so panicked, he might have put two and two together. But just as his mind worked over the pieces to the puzzle, Karosky's large hand swept over his backside. Kurt jumped away, "That's it, you psycho! That's what this is? Pretend you don't know what's going on so that you can molest me while Blaine's shivering in a cell somewhere? You tell me what's going on right now or I swear to - " Kurt was cut off by sirens.

The police car finally drove up behind them, Sheriff Dew tumbling out of it.

"Kurt! Kurt, what are you doing, kiddo?"

"It's him!" Kurt screamed, pointing a finger in Karosky's pudgy face. The other man had grown pale, and Dew froze, looking from one boy to the other. "He's been calling me to make threats, he's the one who's been poisoning students and he killed Pavarotti and now he has Blaine and I'm going to kill you!"

Dew's arms were around his waist before he could lunge at Karofsky again. She was stronger than he was, holding him steady through the screaming and fighting, until Kurt's adrenaline rush died away and he quieted, panting in her arms. It wasn't until then that what she was shouting sunk in. "It couldn't have been him, Kurt!"

"What? What do you mean, it couldn't have been him?" Kurt said, "It had to be him. He's been calling me!"

"Was it his number?" Sheriff Dew asked.

"No," Kurt said, "He must have used a false number. He looks stupid, but trust me when I say he isn't. But it was his voice, I know it was…"

"How do you know?"

"Look, lady," Karofsky said, "Officer, I don't know what he's talking about. I haven't been killing anybody, I don't have anybody."

And now that Kurt wasn't listening, it wasn't exactly the same. The voice on the other line was similar, but just a tad too deep. "Well, then, he did something to his voice to change it, but it was him, I know it was. Don't you believe me?"

Sheriff Dew spun him around, making him look into her eyes, "Kurt, we all believe you. We've been looking at what's been happening to you. It's happened to other boys."

"I – yeah?" Why would Karosky attack anyone else? Kurt was the only one he hated…

"This person… he calls gay boys. He makes them do what he wants and causes accidents. He kidnaps their friends and family. Isn't that what's been happening to you Kurt?"

"Yeah," Kurt said faintly, "But Karofsky…"

"The first time this happened was in Columbus. Jeffrey Conners was called and stalked by a serial killer in 1995. We know someone's doing this to you, but it's not this boy. He's too young. Kurt, someone else has been calling you."

Kurt phone began to ring.

Kurt slowly brought it to his ear, pressed the button, and said, "Who are you?"

The voice that travelled down the line to him was nothing like Karofsky's. It was rough, deep, and terrifyingly cold. It could have belonged to anyone.

"You have 10 days."


	18. Day 1

_A/N: It seems that I am facing a huge stretch of writer's block. Please bear with me. Also, it seems that the idea of a crossover is fairly well received, so I will be using a few Criminal minds characters, although this is only to help the main story, which is about Blaine, Kurt, and the stalker. Thank you so much for all your support; I'm terrified of disappointing you, but I think I'll get over it. _

There were 38,771 people in Lima, Ohio.

Kurt knew about 500 of them; the kids at school, the guys that worked at his Dad's garage, a handful of the neighbors. But it suddenly struck Kurt how small his circle of acquaintance was.

Kurt stared at the glass doors of the police station. The world outside was dark; the night from outside seeping into Kurt's bones. He had his phone set down on the table in front of him. His Dad's hand was on his back, warm and restraining at the same time, willing Kurt not to jump out of his skin. Sheriff Dew paced on the other side of the tiny holding room they'd been shown into, looking out towards those glass doors every few seconds herself. Kurt's knee bounced in place.

Blaine's father was on the other side of their short row of chairs. He was alone, dark eyes staring forward aimlessly. He had Blaine's nose and Blaine's broad shoulders. There was a book on his lap, and he kept glancing at it, swallowing, and then staring forward.

Dew paused in her pacing directly in front of him, causing the large man to look up at her. "Um, excuse me, Mr. Anderson. We were wondering if you had contact information for Blaine's mother. We should probably let her know-"

Mr. Anderson cut her off, laughing coldly. "Blaine's mother hasn't had any real connection with him since he was in diapers. She left us when he was four, we haven't seen her since. All I have is the address on the last birthday card she sent him." Mr. Anderson opened the book on his lap and Kurt's heart jumped when he realized that it was a baby book. Images of a tiny little person with wild black hair morphed into a slim boy with a bright smile as Blaine's father flipped through to the back. He pulled out an envelope filled with a gaudy, cheaply made birthday card with a teddy bear on the front. He then flipped back to a page near the beginning.

Picture Blaine was about four years old. It was Halloween, judging by the tiny superhero costume and pile of candy. He was beaming at the camera, waving with a chubby, chocolate covered palm. Mr. Anderson's jaw went tight.

"Where's my son?" He asked. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

"We have a special team from Virginia already working on the case," Sheriff Dew answered.

"Special team," Kurt echoed. His voice was hollow. "So this really is a serial killer?"

The officer's eyes locked onto him, but Kurt didn't look away. Eyes couldn't bother him, "I'm afraid so."

Kurt fell silent, waiting until Sheriff Dew walked away to talk to a tall woman with a sheet of dark hair. Burt shifted beside him, for the fifteenth time in the last hour.

"It's okay," Kurt said dully. "You can go to the bathroom, Dad."

Burt stopped moving, glancing at his son. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"Please, Dad."

Burt got up, stretching muscles and shaking his head. He lumbered toward the door. Kurt waited until he was gone to move. Kurt stood up, barely glancing at Blaine's father; the man was still staring aimlessly down at his son's life. Kurt wasn't sure where he was going until he saw Sheriff Dew, talking urgently to the dark haired woman. Kurt quietly pushed back the doors, standing silently behind them. The woman Sheriff Dew was talking to was called Emily, Kurt had heard someone call her that.

"The person we're looking for, he's most likely a narcissist," Emily said, "He believes that every gay man is secretly in love with him and trying to seduce him. If he knows that Blaine's gay, he's going to interpret every movement the boy makes as a flirtation. Glancing at him, looking away, shifting his hips, exaggerated breathing... No matter how scared Blaine would look to one of us, to the unsub, it looks like Blaine's being coquettish. The rape of the primary victim is usually the culmination of these triggers, it's the unsub proving his authority. Giving them what they want. But he usually kidnaps straight boys, he doesn't get triggered by them nearly as easily."

"But Blaine's gay." Sheriff Dew said, "What does that mean?" Emily dropped her eyes, looking uncomfortable.

"It means Blaine Anderson's probably already been raped."


End file.
